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earlysunshines · 5 months ago

Text

under the mistletoe

kim minji x fem!reader ; fluff

synopsis: your ex is going to be at your cousin's christmas party so you convince your super cute gorgeous amazing stupid idiotic hot best friend to play girlfriend for the night--it should be fine, right? it's not like anything real will happen... right? right??

warnings: fake dating but there's like no angst bc they're too gay to be doing all that (i can't write angst idk) ; making out!!! HOORAY!!!!! ; nerd minji my lover ; they're so gay ; kinda fast paced ; anything else not mentioned ; not proofread!!!

a/n: wanted to get winter themed fics out for all three before christmas but that prob won't happen LOL anyways this idea has been marinating in my head forever, enjoy!!! oh, and merry christmas!!

“i hate jake.”

minji looks away from her phone, one eyebrow raised as she watches you sink into the cushion even further. this is the third time you’ve groaned dramatically in the last five minutes.

“…jake is your cousin.” she points out, dryly.

“and the worst person on earth.” you mutter, setting your phone down beside you. minji watches you lean over until you flop against her with a very questionable posture. “he’s forcing me to go to his stupid christmas party.”

“and this is a problem because…?”

“because,” you huff, sitting up straight again. “my ex will be there. probably just to annoy me.”

minji immediately makes a face, scrunching her nose in disgust. “ugh, gross… didn’t she dump you for ‘personal growth’ and in that same month started dating a man?”

“i fear.” you reply, crossing your arms. “her egos so big that she probably thinks i’m miserable over her. i got over her the moment i found out she was with a man! she thinks im some stupid, emotionally immature—ugh.“

minji rolls her eyes. “i can’t believe you dated her—for four months.”

“not my brightest time.”

“it baffles me,” minji begins, “i hated her, you know?”

“oh, i know.” you glance at her, failing to hide a small smile despite your frustration. “you were not subtle about it.”

“well i wasn’t trying to be,” she says flatly, setting her phone down and looking at you properly. you peel yourself off her shoulder, moving yourself over to lay flat on your back your couch with one leg over minji’s lap. “so, what’s your plan? you can’t just go and let her get under your skin.”

you let out a long sigh, rubbing your hands over your face. “i don’t know. maybe i just… won’t go.”

“that’s an option,” minji starts, poking at the gingerbread man on your pajama pants mindlessly. “but jake will never shut up if you skip.”

“i know,” you groan, running your hands further up to grip at your hair out of frustration. “what do i even do? show up alone and let her pity me? she’s going to think i’m a loser—a bigger loser than the one she already makes up in her head.”

“you could just… not show up? make an excuse?”

“jake is pretentious—he’ll know i’m bluffing.”

“send him a fake screenshot of the thermometer showing that you have a high fever?”

“no, he’ll know.”

minji sighs, tilting her head as she studies you. “so what’s your plan then? cry in the corner? accidentally spill juice on her—or even worse—on yourself and hide in the bathroom?”

“you’re so mean to me.” you huff, sitting up and leaning against the opposite side of the couch now. you stare at minji for a bit, she’s looking at you with raised brows and a curious expression that makes you sit up straighter. “oh my god, i have a plan.”

minji immediately looks suspicious. “what kind of plan?”

“it involves you.”

“absolutely not.”

“i didn’t even say anything yet!” you kick her thigh, making her push your foot away. “just listen. you play my girlfriend for the night,” you say proudly, grinning at her like it’s the most obvious solution in the world.

minji blinks. “what?”

“we date—not for real—for the party.”

she stares at you for a moment, then bursts out laughing. “you’re kidding me.”

“i’m not! think about it—it’s perfect. she’ll see me with you, someone way better than her, then she’ll get off my back, and i won’t have to spend the whole night dodging her.”

minji shakes her head, though there’s a faint flush creeping up her neck. “and why would i agree to this?”

“because you love me?” you say skeptically, giving her a stupid pout and your best attempt at puppy dog eyes. “please, minji. you just have to stick with me and pretend to like me and plus–you’ll get free food and drinks. please?”

minji hesitates, poking at the gingerbread man on your pants again, the same one right over your shin. you tear your leg away from her, expecting an answer. “i don’t know…” she mumbles.

“i’ll treat you to dinner.” you add, which makes minji shoot her head up.

“dinner?”

“whatever you want.” you promise.

minji sighs, letting her head fall back against the couch. “fine. but only because i can’t stand her either—and i kind of feel bad for you.”

you barely let her finish the sentence before launching yourself at her, wrapping her in a tight hug with your arms around her shoulders. you’ve pushed her down a bit, she’s holding your weight, and her senses are overwhelmed from the scent of vanilla that clouds you and the warmth radiating off of your body.

“thank you!” you exclaim, your voice heavy with relief.

her hands hover awkwardly in the air for a moment before resting lightly on your back. “you’re welcome?”

it’s only then that you realize how close you are—your face inches from hers, your breath brushing against her lips. you can feel her tense beneath you, her gaze flicking from your eyes to your mouth and back again. her lips part ever so slightly, and the light press of her hand on your back falters.

the air shifts, something growing heavier on you two, but before you can dwell on it too long, minji gently pushes you off with a nervous laugh.

“y-you were crushing me,” she says, her cheeks tinged pink as she sits back, putting some space between you. “are you that happy that i agreed?”

“yes,” you grin, unable to stop the warmth spreading through your chest. “you’re the best, seriously.”

“yeah, yeah,” she mutters, reaching for a pillow and chucking it at your head. “just don’t get used to it.”

you groan when the pillow hits you, grabbing it from her hands and leaping over to get her back. you two fight each other playfully on the couch, you even knock minji’s glasses off her nose. and through the bickering, your heart skips a little when she’s trapped one of your legs between both of hers, and you’re trying to defend yourself while pushing her off—hyperaware of the proximity.

maybe playing girlfriend for a bit won’t be too bad.

after getting dumped months ago, the first person you turned to was minji.

she didn’t hesitate. the moment she saw your glossy eyes, she pulled you into her arms, holding you close until you calmed down. that night, she didn’t hold back her thoughts about your awful ex, and you stayed over, letting her cook you breakfast the next morning.

you’ve always been good friends, spent a good amount of time together, but somehow, after that night your friendship felt different—deeper—after that.

since then, you’ve found comfort in each other, always finding reasons to be together thrown in with superficial insults. sometimes it’s quiet—her sitting on your couch while you fold laundry and hum along to something playing on your phone, or maybe it’s you at her place while she studies. even when she hates chores, minji pitches in without complaint, and you never question why.

then there are the little outings: a walk in the park, dropping off a package, or now: grocery shopping. it’s nothing extravagant, but somehow it always feels like enough. it’s always enough with her.

you and minji are strolling through the grocery store side by side. minji holds a small basket in her hand while you grab and toss random items in with little thought. she’s squinting at a list on her phone, her lips moving slightly as she mutters the items under her breath.

“i was thinking,” you begin, and minji looks up, quirking a brow.

“oh god.”

“you’re so mean to me.” you flick her shoulder before continuing. “if we’re going to be girlfriends, we need a solid backstory. something believable.”

minji grabs a jar of almond butter and tosses it in the basket. “you’re overthinking this.”

“no, i’m not. what if someone asks us how we got together? we need a solid story,” you argue, “and i know jake is going to be interrogating me as soon as i introduce you—or at least curious, maybe.”

minji sighs. “fine. how about… we were hanging out, just the two of us, and suddenly we just fell in love or something. we confessed while watching a romance film, maybe?”

“wow,” you giggle, “that’s so original. super romantic.”

“it’s simple and probably believable,” she says defensively, nudging you with her finger.

“it’s corny.” you tease, turning and stepping into the next aisle. “how about this: we were at a concert and locked eyes and—”

“that’s even worse.” minji groans, covering her face with her hand.

“i didn’t even finish!”

“exactly. it sounds like hyein made that up.” she snickers, “i can’t believe she’s also your cousin.”

“one cousin that probably won’t make it to the party,” you sigh in relief, “she’d blow the whole plan, knowing how we are.”

“what?” minji questions, curious as to what ‘we are’ is. before she can ask, you cut her thoughts off.

“we’ll go with your idea i guess. but we also have to spend lots of time together, more than we usually do, and we kind of just have to make it believable.”

“that’s nothing.”

“well i can’t really trust you on that, minji. you’re not the brightest.”

you two continue to bicker and poke at this whole ‘fake dating’ ordeal. as you head out to the checkout line, loading your items onto the conveyor belt, an elderly lady in front of you turns around, her eyes twinkling as she smiles warmly.

“you two make such a lovely couple,” she says, her voice kind. “you compliment each other so well.”

both of you freeze for a moment, caught completely off guard. you glance at minji, whose ears have turned a noticeable shade of red, and you can’t help but grin.

“uh, thank you.” minji mumbles, suddenly very interested in organizing the groceries.

you don’t correct the woman, instead leaning slightly closer to minji and whispering, “see? it’s already working.”

minji rolls her eyes and shoves you lightly with her shoulder, unable to hide her flustered expression. it’s different than her usual, calm demeanor, and you like it. it’s cute.

you laugh, nudging her back. “you’re kind of cute when you’re like that.”

“what?” minji asks, a lump forming in her throat. “you’re so… you’re so annoying.”

—

countdown: two weeks until the party

you’re doing your best not to think about having to drive almost forty-minutes south for jake’s stupid party at his stupid (-ly nice) house. instead, you’re at your usual cafe spot with hanni, danielle, and minji. the conversation is casual, filling the air, along with the occasional hiss of the espresso machine.

you’re mid-rant, your hands gesturing animatedly as you lean forward. “i’m just saying, if you’re going to take a lit class, at least try to understand the material. this guy skims a few pages of virginia woolf and pretends he’s a ‘feminist.’ he’s doing the absolute most to appeal to women—half that class is gay!”

“which guy was this again? there’s too many men you hate on.” hanni asks playfully, sipping on her latte.

“heeseung. oh my god,” you huff, leaning back in your chair. “he’s so fake. he’ll throw out random quotes that barely connect to what we’re discussing, and the worst part? half the class buys it because he’s loud and confident. he doesn’t actually care about the themes or depth of anything. all heeseung does is show up to class, dress like some girls ‘dream man’ pinterest board, and plays pretend.”

danielle glances up with a small frown. “that’s frustrating. especially since you actually like the material.”

“exactly!” you say, stirring your straw around for no reason at all. “and don’t even get me started on how he turns every discussion into some weird way to hit on the girls in class. like, ‘oh, you’re so insightful. you must be really in touch with your emotions.’ oh my god i can’t stand straight men. i can’t stand people who enable them.”

minji chuckles quietly into her drink. the sound draws your attention, and for some reason, when your eyes meet hers, the air between you shifts. her gaze softens slightly, her lips quirking upward in a way that makes you stare a bit.

“he probably thinks he’s all that.” minji remarks, her voice steady but her gaze soft.

you falter for half a second, your rant losing steam. it’s not just the way she’s looking at you—it’s the way your chest tightens like someone tying a knot and tugging. it’s unexpected, and the way minji smiles down at her cup makes you feel all tingly inside. that’s odd. more than odd.

“yeah, exactly.” you quickly look away, ignoring whatever is making you do a double take. “he’s so one-dimensional, self-absorbed, and i hate him.”

minji bites back another smile, trying to keep her focus on her drink instead of the way you light up when you rant. she likes the way you talk, the furrow of your brows, the passion in your tone. she knows it’s a little dangerous, this quiet admiration she can’t seem to shake, the same admiration she pushed down your first semester. she’s gotten too good at keeping it to herself to lose now, and why now anyway?

hanni nudges you with her elbow. “at least he’s giving you plenty of material for complaints. maybe you could analyze him for an essay.”

you laugh, the sound warm and genuine.

minji’s stomach does a little flip—she wishes it wouldn’t.

“i’d seem like a fan,” you reply, shaking your head. “i’d rather focus on something—or someone—that actually matters.”

the words hang in the air for a second longer than intended, and your eyes dart back to minji’s. it’s fleeting, but there it is again—the strange flutter, like time paused just enough for something to stir.

minji looks away quickly, busying herself by looking out the window, and you clear your throat, turning your attention back to hanni and danielle.

the moment passes, but the undercurrent lingers. neither of you speak on it.

—

countdown: nine days until the party

minji’s apartment is chaos, but the adorable kind. her two-year-old nephew is currently standing on the couch, holding a stuffed dinosaur in one hand and a juice box in the other, refusing to eat the carrot sticks minji had cut up for him.

“you’ll like it if you just try it,” minji sighs, sitting in front of him. he’s sitting on the couch, towering over her because of the level difference. it’s almost comical.

he shakes his head, lying flat on his back and ignoring her.

you lean against the kitchen counter, biting back a grin as minji sighs dramatically and pinches the bridge of her nose. “you’re lucky you’re so cute,” she mutters, and you can’t help but giggle at the sight of her bickering with a child. she pinches his cheek and adds, “otherwise i’d be less lenient, you troublemaker.”

“he’s kind of like you. stubborn… and cute.” you tease, muttering the last part to yourself. you pull out your phone to snap a picture, minji whirling around a moment too late after you capture the scene.

“aw, i’ve got to make this my wallpaper.” you laugh, walking over and sitting down next to her.

minji rolls her eyes, shoving you lightly. “is this for our ‘fake dating’ thing?”

you hadn’t thought about that; in fact, you forgot about it for a brief moment. “oh,” you begin, looking at her with a strange confusion in your heart. “well, no. i thought it was a cute… candid moment.”

“whatever.” she grumbles, but her lips twitch into a reluctant smile as she returns to negotiating with her nephew. “but send me that, please.”

…

lunchtime comes with fewer arguments, mostly because minji bribes the toddler with nuggets. the three of you end up at a cozy cafe, not too far from the one you frequent with your friends. the kid is perched in a high chair between you and minji, eating happily.

minji is effortlessly charming, coaxing him to eat some of the carrots she brought with her and laughing at the attempts of sentences that he babbles. her eyes crinkle at the corners in a way that makes your heart feel a little too full.

you snap another picture when she’s not looking—minji leaning over to wipe ketchup off the kid’s cheek, her expression soft and so full of care it marks your chest ache.

“why are you smiling like an idiot?” she asks, catching you mid-photo.

“no reason,” you lie, slipping your phone into your pocket with a small, secret grin.

…

back at minji’s apartment, the liveliness dies down and reaches something still, something quieter. her nephew gets tired from the walking that occurred after lunch, so when you’re all back home he’s tucked under minji’s arm, clutching his dinosaur.

minji’s in a crewneck and grey sweatpants with two braids resting against the pillow her head is on, loose strands fraying out. she reaches over to drape the blanket over the two of them, and you watch from the door frame as you lean on it.

her eyes close from exhaustion, and that’s when you quietly grab the polaroid sitting on her shelf. it’s a spontaneous decision, but perfect for the moment. you turn it on, smile at the two, and press click. the flash catches you off guard, you’re afraid to wake them—but neither of them budge.

the photo prints out slowly, and once it’s fully spewed out you shake it in your hand so it can develop. it takes a moment to develop, but once it does, the smile on your face grows and stretches from ear to ear: minji’s face is relaxed, peaceful, and her nephew eunwoo is nestled against her with a similar expression. you slide the polaroid into the back of your phone case—just because.

as you turn to leave, minji stirs, her eyes fluttering open just enough to see you.

“stay,” she murmurs, her voice laced with sleep.

“minji,” you start, but she shifts a bit, making room for you while keeping eunwoo comfy. she pats an empty space beside her and grins tiredly.

“just for a little while,” she whispers, her eyes already closing again. “please?”

it’s the ‘please’ that does it. you hesitate only for a moment before stepping closer, your heart beating so loudly that if makes you wonder if she can hear it. climbing into the bed next to her, the mattress dips as you settle, minji instinctively drapes an arm over you, and it feels just right. the warmth of her so close is almost too much, but its perfect in a way you can’t bring yourself to think about twice.

you’ve always been fine with being touchy when it came to minji—lingering on the couch together, playful shoves, nudges, and maybe a limb or two resting on one another—but now? it’s much different. it’s easy to close your eyes and let yourself fall when she’s so close.

…

you wake up to the light outside fading, the room covered with the remnants of the sun shining through the window. minji is still beside you, her face turned toward yours, her breathing slow and even. her nephew is a small weight against her other side, pressed against her with the way her hand is angled and still clutching his dinosaur.

minji’s eyes flutter open just barely, and she looks at you like she’s still dreaming. there’s something unsaid in the way she gazes at you, something quiet and tender and a little overwhelming.

you don’t say anything, and neither does she. but the more the silence stretches on and with each slow blink she gives you while her lips form into another small smile—you realize you don’t want the moment to end.

she’s close, warm, and comfy—that’s minji. you realize it then as the sun continues to set, as your breaths are the only sound filling the room, and as minji absentmindedly strokes her thumb against your shoulder repeatedly that you wouldn’t mind being her real girlfriend. not if it meant being this close to her whenever you wanted and getting to love her on a different level.

the thought doesn’t scare you. it doesn’t feel rushed or strange or anything too overwhelming. it just is. the thought simply lingers in the air.

she shifts slightly, her arm moving over to rest on your back before pushing you closer to her. she lets out a content sigh as a full smile takes over. your heart flutters, and you smile back, just as soft.

eunwoo stirs, a little groan wakes both you and minji up a bit more. his voice breaks the moment as he mumbles something incoherent, and you see his little hand reaching over and squishing minji’s cheek in the process, even messing her braid up a bit more. you laugh at the sight and minji turns to him, brushing his hair back gently.

“time to wake up,” she murmurs lowly. “your mom might show up soon.”

the three of you wake up slowly, with minji being the first one to rub her eyes and sit up first. before she tends to her nephew, she glances at you with a strange new feeling in her eyes and it makes you think that maybe she feels the same way. maybe she wouldn’t mind if the agreement could stretch to new years and further. maybe she wouldn’t mind if it weren’t fake.

—

countdown: five days until the party.

minji stays near your side as you navigate the packed clothing store with her, hanni, and danielle. there’s a variety of t-shirts that you stop by so you can skim through, dresses that hanni and danielle consider buying for their sisters, and assortments of accessories that you all try on together, snapping pictures to add to your favorites folder.

“this is hideous,” you mutter, holding up a sweater that resembles a traffic cone but ten times more saturated.

“you should try it on,” minji insists with a smirk, already holding a ridiculous blazer with sequins lining it. “with this too. your ex won’t know what hit her, maybe the light will reflect off you and she’ll—”

“you think you’re so funny,” you narrow your eyes at her. “i can’t be the only one stealing the spotlight with my… hazardous outfit, can i? as my girlfriend you have to compliment me.” you grab the most outrageous pieces you can find—a neon, yellow turtleneck and pants that are somehow both plaid as they are glittery—then shove them into minji’s arms.

“so you want to play like that?” she grins, darting off to find something even worse.

hanni and danielle stand off to the side, watching the chaos unfold as you and minji start handing each other more and more ridiculous items for each other to try while giggling like middle schoolers. hanni’s shaking her head, her lips twitching into a smile. “they’re like an actual couple.”

“they really are.” danielle agrees, watching minji as she holds up a pair of fuzzy reindeer slippers and waves them at you like she’s found gold.

“you’re going to look amazing in these,” minji says, basically cackling.

“you’re going to look even better, babe,” you retort, putting a dramatically large hat on top of her head.

the entire store can probably hear you two laughing like idiots as you head into the dressing rooms, but neither of you care. and when you both step out, dressed head to toe in the most absurd clothing, hanni is the first to burst out laughing, immediately pulling her phone out and documenting everything. danielle hides her face behind her hands, trying not to laugh but failing miserably.

minji steps out and winks at you. she’s clad in an oversized t-shirt that says “elf of the year” and the glitter, plaid hybrid pants you handed to her. she looks like an absolute idiot, and you figure this might be the moment you really fall for her.

“you look so stupid.” you laugh at her with an amused look on your face.

“you know,” hanni says between giggles, “if you two show up to the party like this, you’ll definitely convince everyone you’re together.”

danielle nods, her cheeks pink from laughter. “you’re already convincing enough.”

minji glances at you, her smile softening just a little. “maybe we’re overthinking the outfits,” she teases, but there’s something in her eyes that lingers longer than it should.

you shake it off. “maybe.” you say, your tone playful as you walk back into the dressing room.

“you’d still look good in that, though. you do now.” she replies, but her voice is quieter, as if she only wanted you to hear it.

instead of letting yourself get flustered, you roll your eyes and step inside the changing room, looking in the mirror to see a faint blush on your cheeks.

—

countdown: <24 hours

you’re curled up on the couch with minji since both of you have been much more comfortable with being this close. a movie plays in the background, her arm is wrapped around you, and a blanket covers your legs that tangle together. the movie is something light and easy—your pick, though you can’t seem to focus on the plot.

minji feels your leg tapping up and down subtly against her, notices your tongue poking at your cheek, and the way your fingers fidget with one another. she’s aware of everything, of course she is. she’s sitting close enough that you feel her shift toward you, her presence grounding but not enough to fully settle your nerves.

“you’re doing that thing again.” she says.

“what thing?” you mumble, avoiding her gaze.

“the thing where you’re silently spiraling, fidgeting, freaking out—the latter.” she says simply, turning to look at you. “what’s on your mind?”

you sigh, pausing the tap of your leg and fidgeting and everything else. you run a hand through your hair before letting your upper body go limp against the cushion of your couch and minji’s forearm. “the party… i feel like it’s going to go bad or something. my ex, she’s… she’s so unbearable and extra! she’s only invited because she’s friends with jake’s girlfriend and ugh i don’t even know if this whole plan is going to work out because she knows you and—”

“hey,” minji cuts you off gently, and before you can protest, she reaches out and places her hand on yours. her touch is warm, her thumbs brushing over your knuckles before she boldly moves her hand over to your face now, cupping your cheek. “it’ll be fine,” she assures, and her voice is so steady that you almost believe her.

you blink, your breath catches, then shivers when you breathe out as best as you can. she’s looking at you with her pretty brown eyes through the frames that make her look like a huge nerd while simultaneously the cutest person as well and—

“minji…” you start, her name leaving your lips before your brain can process it. your stomach is doing something stupid and fluttery, the tension crackles between you like wood in a fire, keeping you two in place, pulling you closer.

you flinch at the sound of the abrupt buzz of your phone beside you. it snaps the moment in two, making you glance away from her as reality takes over again. she pulls her hand back slowly, resting them back on your hand instead.

she leans back and lightly mumbles, “you should get that,” her voice quieter than before.

you reach for your phone, your chest tight and your mind racing as you answer it.

it’s jake. of course it’s jake. his voice on the other end barely registers, something about ‘you’re coming, right?’ and ‘don’t bail on me!” followed by a stupid chuckle. your thoughts are still stuck on minji, and you’re wondering if the tension in the air weighed her down just as it did to you.

the call drags on, you glance at her from the corner of your eye. she’s staring at the screen, pretending to be absorbed in the movie, but her fingers fidget with the blanket. you can tell she’s just as thrown off as you are.

when you finally hang up, placing your phone back down beside you, minji looks over with a brow raised.

“jake,” you answer, even if she never asked anything. “he’s… yeah. just checking up on me.”

“right.” minji purses her lips.

you two sit awkwardly far from each other as the movie continues on, but eventually, you can’t take it anymore and return to your normal position. this time, your head rests on her shoulder comfortably, and your hands are intertwined. minji rubs her thumb against the back of your palm, and you think you could stay like this for hours.

–

countdown: finished!

minji parks the car and you take a deep breath in.

“relax, babe.” minji’s attempt at lightening the mood makes you smile softly. “we got this.”

“you sure?”

minji rolls her eyes, then takes your hand in hers as she does a rundown on your ‘relationship.’

“we’ve been friends for a while, i fell first but you’re the one who confessed first while we watched a romance movie—”

you cut her off, “and?”

“and after that we’ve been glued together by the hip. i know your likes and dislikes by default, um, our first date was… by the river? bike rides…?”

“you don’t sound certain.” you tease, “but you’re right.”

“whatever. and that’s it. everything else is just… our um, friendship.” minji’s voice dies down a bit when she says ‘friendship,’ the word articulates as if it were bitter on her tongue. “now let’s go.”

you and minji are side by side, her shoulder brushing against yours as you step through the door. music and scattered conversation are heard throughout the house, and you instinctively stick close to her. jake is the first to greet you, his grin wide as he pulls you into a quick hug.

“you made it!” he beams, then his eyes dart to minji. “and this is…?”

“this is minji,” you introduce, your tone casual while your thumb begins to scratch at your skin.

“minji,” jake repeats, a teasing edge creeping into his voice. “didn’t know you were dating anyone… you know she’s here— well, never mind that. guess we need some more time to catch up, huh?”

minji laughs softly, her hand lightly grazing your arm. “it’s a recent thing, few months.” she says firmly.

“yeah, kind of a surprise for us too. it happened out of nowhere, but i’m really happy.” you add with a shrug, trying to ignore the heat spreading up your neck. jake raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push further, to your surprise, and waves you both inside before giving minji a friendly side hug.

the party is more crowded than you expected, a mix of familiar faces and strangers scattered throughout the house. it’s not really a family gathering, not with the way jake’s friends have taken over the kitchen and living room. he’s always had a thing with turning events, even familial, social.

you and minji linger close, navigating through the small groups with an ease that surprises even you. every so often, while you’re greeting some mutual friends, you catch her glancing at you, a smile tugging at her lips and something in her eyes that you can’t decipher.

“when you said your cousin was inviting you to a holiday party… i expected it to be very formal and family-like.” minji murmurs as the two of you settle on the couch in the living room, plates of food balanced on your laps.

“he invites the cousins that are older and are on good terms with him.” you reply, rolling your eyes fondly. “he likes things like this. but hey, he’s fun, and he knows how to grill.”

minji laughs, nudging your leg lightly with hers. the sound is soft and warm, cutting through the background noise and settling somewhere deep in your heart.

as the two of you eat, you find yourself leaning into her presence without thinking. her knee bumps against yours and neither of you moves away.

“i’ll grab us some more soda,” you say after a while, setting your empty plate on the table and standing.

“don’t get lost,” she teases, her smile lingering as you head toward the kitchen.

you glance back once, catching the way she watches you leave. it’s subtle, but it’s enough to make you feel like she really adores you.

…

cold air hits your face as you dig past cans of beer and bottles of wine while you shuffle through the fridge. you finally spot the sodas in the back and grab two coke zero’s, but the condensation already makes your hands feel slick and damp. as you shut the door, you hear someone clear their throat.

turning, you come face to face with her. it’s like being hit with a wave you didn’t see coming, but at the same time you were preparing for it. now that it hits you, it’s really chilling. her hair is a little different, her smile just as sharp, and she seems as pretentious as before. you’re surprisingly able to stay calm.

“hey,” you greet sweetly, forcing a casualness into your voice that you don’t feel.

she tilts her head, a little smirk forming. “hey, it’s been a while.”

“it has,” you reply, gripping the sodas just a little tighter.

before the conversation can turn into something messier, a guy steps up beside her. tall, charming, and really just a face that resembles all the guys that she would compliment while you two were dating. “this is yeonjun, my boyfriend.” she says, her words are slow and deliberate like shes shoved a nail into your skin and twisted it.

you smile tightly, nodding at him. “nice to meet you, i’m an old friend of hers.”

the air is heavy, and you can tell she’s waiting for you to falter. your hands are damp now, the condensation dripping from the cokes, and you’re wondering how to get out of this.

someone answers your prayers. a warm hand settles on your waist, grounding you instantly when the familiar warmth is recognized. then, soft lips press to your temple. your heart stutters in surprise and your brain malfunctions momentarily. you turn your head slightly, catching the familiar scent of minji’s floral perfume before you can even see her.

“hey, love,” love? that’s a new one, but you can’t say that you hate it—especially when it comes out so naturally from minji.

she reaches over to take one of the sodas from your hand and when you glance back over to your ex—it looks like someone just slapped her. “minji?”

minji smiles politely, her hand still resting at your waist, tugging at your waistband not so subtly. “yeah, nice to see you again. i was wondering what was taking y/n so long, i was getting thirsty.” she gives you a soft glance as she chuckles.

you manage to recover quickly, leaning into her touch. her presence fuels your words, “i was just catching up,” you explain, gesturing toward your ex. “oh, right—you remember minji, don’t you?” you pause for just the right amount of time before looking at her lovingly, adding, “she’s my girlfriend now.”

your ex blinks, surprise evident in her expression. “oh. wow. i didn’t know… you two were—”

“yeah,” you interrupt, turning toward minji with a grin you don’t have to fake. you can’t remember the last time you faked anything with her, really. “she’s amazing. i’m glad we’re together, she’s lovely.”

minji rolls her eyes before moving her hand up to your shoulder, rubbing it lightly. “you’re doing that thing again.”

“what?” you question.

“being so fond,” she twirls a piece of your hair with her finger, “you’re too sweet to me.”

“because you’re my girlfriend, idiot.” you giggle right after that, and minji follows. “i’m not lying when i say all those things.”

minji smiles at you, something mellow and real in her eyes. you can tell she knows exactly what you’re thinking. her hand moves over to cup your cheek briefly before she uses it to open her can of soda. she glances back up at the pair in front of you, your ex and yeonjun, giving them an intimidating glare—directly mainly to your ex.

“we should get back, jake was asking about you.”

“was he? i guess we should…” you say, glancing at your ex one last time, her expression unreadable now. “it was nice seeing you again.”

minji steers you away, her presence steady and comforting as she leads you with her hand returning to your waist. you don’t miss the way your ex’s gaze lingers on the two of you, but that doesn’t cross your mind anymore. not when minji’s here, leaving you flustered and happier than you’ve ever been.

—

the living room is filled with laughter and conversation when you and minji step back inside. your cheeks are still warm from the cold air outside—or maybe from the conversation you just had, both of you had been reminiscing on how harsh minjis nephew eunwoo can be towards minji. her laugh lingers in your mind, and for a moment you almost forget where you are.

“there you two are!” jake’s voice cuts through the noise, and everyone turns toward you and minji as he gestures for you to join the group. “you’re just in time!”

but then you notice it—the small branch of green hanging above your heads: the mistletoe.

jake grins, wide and mischievous as if this were part of his plan. “looks like you two are under the mistletoe~” jake points out as if he’s a child.

the room quiets, and suddenly, every pair of eyes is on you and minji. your shoulders stiffen and minji’s hand brushes against yours.

you glance at her, and she’s already looking at you, her face flushed but calm. you’d stare for a moment longer, maybe tease her for how cute she looks, but you’re in the spotlight now. there’s something steady in her eyes, like she’s silently saying, it’s okay.

someone whistles, and the teasing murmers start, but they fade into the background when minji tilts her head slightly toward you, her voice low and gentle. “we don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

you shake your head, a small smile forming. “it’s fine,” you whisper back, “it’s just a kiss, right?”

she nods, her expression mirroring yours—reassuring, gentle, and maybe just a little nervous.

and then, without overthinking it, you both lean in. the kiss isn’t hurried or awkward—it’s soft and lingering, not too much but far from a quick peck. your hand brushes against her neck, and for a moment, everything kind of blurs except her.

when you pull back, the room erupts into cheers and coos of “aww,” but you barely hear them. your eyes are still locked on minji’s, her cheeks a shade of pink that you will definitely comment on later.

before you can process anything, her hand comes up to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin. she leans in again, this time pressing a brief, tender kiss to your lips. it’s a kiss that’s not influenced by the branch above you, a natural, instinctive kiss that makes your heart stop beating for a bit.

you both pull away, a silent realization settling between you. something’s changed. something you can’t quite name but can sense in her dilated pupils, slight bite of her lip, and bright smile.

“okay, okay, lovebirds. sorry about my cousin and her girlfriend,” jake jokes with a laugh, breaking the moment and taking all the attention off you two. “i just wanted to thank you all for coming.”

his words don’t process, in fact, you don’t really hear much of it because minji’s fingesr slip between yours, warm and steady. as jake continues talking, you glance down at your joined hands and then back at her.

you squeeze her hands lightly. the feeling is new, but it feels like it’s always been there. it feels good, it feels right.

…

once jake’s speech ends, you catch minji’s eye. there’s longing in her look, she’s asking a silent question and you have the answer. without a word, you grab her hand, weaving through the guests and slipping up the stairs unnoticed—they don’t know your cousin’s hosue like you do.

the hallway is dim, shadows playing on the walls as you pull her to a stop. before she can say anything, you turn, your hands finding her cheeks, and kiss her.

it’s different this time—no crowd and no stupid mistletoe hanging above. it’s just you two. you, and minji, with her lips are pressing against yours softly. she tastes sweet, warm, and familiar, and the way her hands rest under your jawline sends a shiver down your spine.

you pull her closer, hands moving down and pulling at the fabric of her shirt like you’re trying to stop yourself from losing your balance. her lips move against yours in harmony, in sync, and nothing else in the world matters except the two of you in that moment.

when you two finally break apart, you’re both breathing heavily—from kissing so much and from utter shock. minji’s eyes search for yours in the darkness, her lips parting slightly as she catches her breath. “come on,” she murmurs, tugging your hand gently.

she pulls you into a nearby room, and you barely manage to glance around before realizing who’s room it is.

“minji,” you whisper, stifling a laugh, “this is jake’s room.”

“i could care less,” she cuts you off with another kiss. her lips are insistent, and her hands find your waist again, drawing you closer. “when i kiss you, i just— i can’t help but want to kiss you more and more and more and more.”

her confession is punctuated by kisses–soft, desperate, and consuming. you melt into her, your hands threading through her hair as you let her guide you toward the bed.

she’s nearly on top of you, her legs on either side of yours with he lips trailing to your jaw, then back to your lips.

“i want to be your real girlfriend,” she whispers nervously. “i want to kiss you like this, be with you, everything.”

you pause, cupping her face in your hands as you pull back just enough to meet her eyes. she looks at you, eyes lidded and vulnerable. your heart swells.

“i want to be your real girlfriend too,” you confess, using your thumb to stroke her cheekbone. “i think this is the best present i’ll ever get.”

she giggles before closing the distance again—instant, radiant, eager— and you can feel her smiling against your lips.

“should i put a bow on myself and lay under the tree?” she says when she pulls back, but just enough so your lips ghost each other. “to seal the deal.”

“you’re impossible.” you laugh, digging your fingers deeper into her scalp before pecking her quickly. “we should take this to the car… jake will kill me.”

“i think we can settle for a few more kisses.”

“is there a mistletoe constantly hovering over you?”

“no…” minji mutters, “but maybe we could steal the mistletoe and make it happen.”

you roll your eyes at her, but regardless you close the distance once more. and just when you think she can’t be more of an idiot—she proves you wrong.

“and you still owe me dinner, by the way.”

“whatever,” you mumble in adoration, “it’s a date.”

#kpop x reader #newjeans x reader #minji x reader #kim minji x reader #newjeans minji #kim minji

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crazyyluvr · 1 month ago

Note

Umemiya x 3rd year medic reader YESSS!

umemiya x medic!reader (no gender is specified, I think)

wc: 3.6k (not proofread but i never proofread anyway)

note: finally back with a oneshot. i wanna watch windbreaker s2 so bad but idk where to watch it huhu. enjoy the oneshot! <33

The three times Sakura has seen you take care of Umemiya, and the one time he returned the favor.

Sakura was one of the densest people in Bofurin. His friends constantly teased him of that fact, and Sakura always denied their assumptions and borderline insults towards his emotional intellect.

His one and only proof that he is not as dense as others say he is was the thing that he can see what others can't for some reason: the chemistry between Bofurin's leader and the resident medic.

He normally doesn't dabble in other people's personal lives, especially their love lives, but this one was just staring at him in the face to the point where he couldn't stop himself from asking his friends about it.

"They don't seem like they like each other," Nirei said, shaking his head when Sakura brought up the idea while they were in Kotoha's café.

"I agree," Suo hummed, leaning back and pushing his plate of biscuits to Sugishita, who quietly accepted them and ate them. "I've known them for a while, and they don't really have any tension between them."

Sakura simply stared at them, mouth agape, before he slammed his hands on their table. "Then all of you are the blind ones! There's no way ya can't see what's going on between those two!"

"Do you have any proof to support your claims?" Suo said.

"I got a ton." Sakura leaned back in his wooden chair, crossing his arms as he began to recount all the moments that he's witnessed between you and Hajime Umemiya.

—————

Incident One: The lingering gazes when tending to wounds.

After the fight Umemiya and Tomiyama officially declared that they would be friends after their fight, you had immediately approached Umemiya and dragged him to the closest theater seat to the stage.

Umemiya didn't even protest, letting you lead him with a hand wrapped around his forearm as he sat down and let you watch over his wounds. It was almost like routine for the both of you, neither of you saying a word as you fell into a familiar rhythm.

Sakura didn't think much of it at the start — you had done the same thing to the rest of them after their own matches, which was why they all had bandages and ointments spread over their faces.

"What's the verdict, doc?" Umemiya asked, eyes transfixed on you standing over him. "Am I gonna live?"

Sakura did a double take when he saw the smile that took place on Umemiya's face. It was different than the ones that he normally offered to everyone else — it had some kind of... mushiness to it that Sakura couldn't quite identify.

Nonetheless, it caught his attention.

"Your wounds aren't that severe, and the bite on your neck didn't pierce anything vital," you had said, a hand behind his head to make him lean back so you could examine the injury properly. "It doesn't need stitches — they're all pretty shallow. I'll just disinfect all of them then bandage."

"Do your worst, doc." Umemiya leaned back in his chair and watched as you dug into your medkit for the things you needed.

You rolled your eyes, face contorted into an expression of annoyance, undoubtedly caused by Umemiya's behavior during his fight.

"Next time, when someone tries to bite your neck, at least push their head away or something," you huffed as you put a white pad of bandage over the wound to clean it. Your angry tone contrasted the gentle hold you had over his body, as if you were afraid that you were going to break the leader of Bofurin even more.

"Aww, are you worrying about me, doc?" Umemiya cooed closing his eyes as he just let you do your thing.

"I'm more worried about my supplies," you countered, wrapping the bandage around his neck. "At this rate, half my materials will be used on wounds that you pointlessly gain from stupid fights."

Umemiya simply flashed you a grin as he looked up at you. He didn't reply, but the heaviness in his gaze said enough.

"Stop looking at me like that, Umemiya."

"Like what?" Umemiya asked, but he already knew what you were talking about. He just wanted to torture you.

"Like you wanna fight me."

Umemiya blinked. He misinterpreted your interpretation. "That's not-"

You let out a snort, finishing up the bandage and pulling away from him. "I was kidding. Don't get so worked up."

You let your eyes linger on his before you walked away, turning towards other members of Shishitoren in order to treat their wounds that were significantly worse than the Bofurin members had attained.

The interaction that was supposed to just be normal was so charged with tension it penetrated even Sakura's dense brain, causing redness to flood his cheeks as he looked away. He felt like he was invading something intimate and private that he wasn't supposed to witness but did anyway.

And apparently he was the only one who witnessed it because he heard no comments about them, even from the smart Nirei who normally noticed almost every small little detail about his "idols" (and you were pretty high up that list).

Despite that, Sakura didn't say anything about this, thinking that he was just imagining things. After all, he didn't really notice these types of things, didn't he? He was probably just making assumptions.

If only that was the only time that happened.

—————

Incident Two: the fussing over the tiniest cuts.

The second time made him feel suspicious.

He had learned quite quickly that raids from gangs was quite common in the town of Makochi. It was up to Bofurin to make sure that these raids never caused any extended damage on the properties of the residents.

He had also learned that despite the size of Bofurin and the wide array of good fighters that can easily help any kind of raid, Umemiya preferred being more hands-on with his leadership approach. He didn't let his status get in the way of doing meager tasks, like helping put up signs that were too high up for elderly store owners, or chasing down the odd purse-snatcher.

So when there was a tiny raid on the liquor store for the second time in two weeks, Sakura's team rushed over there to help, since they were the closest team that was currently patrolling.

They weren't able to see much of the fight, but they could tell that the gang was getting whacked. Out of a dozen members, four were on the ground, unconscious, while the rest were well on their way there, all while Umemiya didn't have a scratch on him. You were sitting on the curb, simply watching him fight with the medkit you always seemed to have with you on your lap, just waiting for him to finish so you could do your job.

It didn't take long for Umemiya to deal with the gang. His experience with fighting alone and his skill in fighting made the issue a breeze for him, despite gaining a cut on his eyebrow from a knife.

Sakura watched the leader of Bofurin in wonder. This was the person he wished to overcome in order to become the strongest. The boy couldn't help but think that he was a long way from that.

His attention on Umemiya caused him to see something that made him double back. As the older boy walked over to you, Sakura saw how his stance changed the closer he got to you. He went from being the strong fighter, the infamous leader of the protectors of Makochi, to a tired boy the moment he sat down in front of you.

Sakura followed Hiragi and the others in cleaning up the street, fixing things that were thrown into disorder due to the fight. This was also an excuse for Sakura to get closer to the two of you to eavesdrop on your conversation.

"How did I do?" Umemiya asked you, watching you as you took out your necessary materials.

You pretended to think for a moment as you dabbed alcohol onto a clean cotton pad. "Decent enough, I guess, but you get minus points for getting nicked."

You raised the cotton pad and patted the wound with it.

Umemiya hissed in pain, flinching away from the sudden contact of alcohol over his open wound. "Jeez, couldn't you have given me a warning first?"

You rolled your eyes. Nirei had pointed out before that you never rolled your eyes at anyone other than Umemiya, and Sakura realized that he was right. "You're such a big baby," you grumbled, but you had become gentler with your dabbing before you placed the bandaid over his eyebrow.

"If you don't want alcohol over your cuts, don't get anymore in the future," you said as Umemiya stood up, holding out his hand towards you.

"But what reason would I have to visit you then?" Umemiya said cheekily as he pulled you to your feet.

You shoved him, and he stumbled forward dramatically, laughing as a smile broke through your angry façade.

"They both seem very comfortable with each other," Sakura mumbled, and Suo overheard him.

"They've always been like that," he said, smiling. "They're very good friends."

Just friends? Sakura thought as he watched Umemiya sling an arm over your shoulders despite your protest, and the way you still didn't push him off.

I can't help but doubt that.

—————

Incident Three: Massages.

As the representative of his class, Sakura found himself visiting the rooftop garden more often than he had anticipated. Umemiya always asked for updates from all the leaders in Bofurin, and Sakura supposed that this was one of the reasons why people looked up to him so much — he cared a lot about the town and his own men.

You spent most of your time in the garden as well, Sakura noticed. Whether you were organizing supplies, chatting with Umemiya, or helping him with his vegetables, you were always doing something there to keep Umemiya company. You never really listened whenever Umemiya would have a briefing with other squad leaders and class reps, but you always seemed to be there.

Patrol for the day had already ended, so Hiragi decided to let Sakura give the report to Umemiya so he could learn how to do it on his own.

Sakura tried not to show it, but he felt slightly intimidated; not by Umemiya, who he now views as a rival that he must surpass, but by you, the reserved, calculated medic that rarely shows a smile despite the gentle treatment you always give.

This time, however, Sakura wasn't sure whether what to feel as he watched what was going on in front of him.

"Sorry about this, Sakura, but it helps with the back pain," Umemiya said, his voice strained as he sent a smile towards the first year while you sat behind him, pressing on his upper back with enough force for Umemiya's grip on the wooden table in front of him to turn his knuckles white.

"He's a stubborn little shit that doesn't know when to stop when his body is already at its limit," you said monotonously, rubbing your thumbs on his shoulder blades. Umemiya hissed, but gestured for Sakura to start his report.

"Uh," Sakura cleared his throat to regain his composure. "The streets were pretty quiet today. Just a couple of pickpockets and the occasional alley beat-up, but it wasn't that eventful. The butcher shop needed a new door, so we helped with the installment. That's basically it."

Umemiya nodded, one eye squeezing shut as your hands moved down to his lower back, pressing against the contours of his muscles to relieve the tension from them. "Alright, thank you Sakura, you can go — shit!"

"Stop flexing your damn muscles, idiot," you muttered. "I won't be able to fix the soreness if your body isn't relaxed."

"Maybe if you were less harsh, it would be easier for me to relax," Umemiya replied, a bit of a whine in his voice as you rolled your eyes. Nonetheless, Sakura noted the way that you seemed to go easier on the other male. Well, his grip on the table was looser now.

It was around this time that Sakura began to realize that witnessing any moment between you and Umemiya would always feel intimate and intrusive, like he wasn't supposed to see whatever was going on between you two despite neither of you being discreet about it.

Am I the only one who sees anything going on between those two? Sakura thought to himself as he left the rooftop while the two of you bickered between yourselves. Maybe this is what people meant by an "outside perspective". People who grew up with the two of you were absolutely blind to whatever spark there was between Umemiya and his medic.

—————

The Final Incident: The (pretty justified?) overprotectiveness.

Bofurin immediately knew something was wrong when Umemiya's usual message broadcasted in the speaker system lacked its usual mirth.

"Team leaders, report to the rooftop immediately. The rest, wait for instructions from your leaders while going on with your usual duties."

Sakura exchanged glances with Suo and Nirei.

"I wonder what happened," Nirei said nervously, brows creasing with concern.

The three had no idea what could have caused Umemiya to be so serious, but they didn't waste time dwelling on it as they rushed to the roof.

As Umemiya ordered, all the leaders of Bofurin were gathered there. Sakura didn't recognize all of them, but he could see that they were strong, maybe even stronger than him.

"Thank you for gathering on such short notice," Umemiya said, stepping out of the small shade that the rooftop offered. His lips were set into a straight line, his eyes downturned and his brows slightly furrowed. "I'm sorry to put more work on everyone's plates, but we need to double patrol this week."

"What happened, Umemiya?" Hiragi asked, his voice projecting the unease that everyone was feeling.

He didn't reply immediately, moving his Furin coat a bit to stuff his hands into his pockets. "There's a gang active in Makochi," He said, voice leveled. "They're targeting students of Furin, especially the non-violent ones."

"They're destroying shops and hurting people," A new voice interjected, laced with pain and barely-concealed struggle as someone hobbled in from beneath the shade, from the part that was hidden from the eyes of those gathered.

Shock rippled through the leaders of Bofurin, gazes unable to leave your limping form.

The best Sakura could describe you was simple: you were in rough shape. Your right eye was swollen shut, with cuts littering your forehead and cheek that transition into bruises around your neck that disappear under your white undershirt that was stained with red in some places. Your face contorted slightly every time you breathed, and your knuckles were messily wrapped with bandages that were already soaked with blood.

Umemiya surged towards you, putting a hand under your bent elbow to offer you more support.

"I told you to rest," he muttered, words quiet but not unheard by Sakura due to their proximity. "Sit down."

You shook your head, the movement making you wince slightly. "My foot was getting numb. I needed to stretch my legs."

"Numbness is quite common with people who have injured their ankle and are subjected to bed rest," Umemiya replied, a bit of his usual snarkiness returning for a bit before leaving just as quickly as it had come.

"Just... let me speak first," you pleaded slightly, looking at your friend. You may be heavily injured, but you had a position as Umemiya's direct right-hand to uphold. You had to show that you were still strong even after the advances that the gang made on you.

Umemiya studied you for a moment, before sighing and helping you reorient yourself so you could face the members properly.

"Did they attack you?" Hiragi demanded with barely restrained anger that Sakura understood. You were also close with him, and you would always check up on him, and now you were hurt. He would be as angry as him if he were in the same position.

You nodded. "Earlier before assembly. Don't worry — the ones involved were handled with accordingly."

A few small smirks appeared in the crowd. They expected nothing less from the second strongest in Bofurin.

You took a deep breath before speaking again.

"They want to challenge Bofurin for control of the town," you said, now addressing the leaders of your beloved gang. "As much as possible, don't entertain this challenge. Umemiya and I will —"

Umemiya cleared his throat loudly from beside you, giving you a pointed look. You rolled your eyes and recorrected your words. "... Umemiya will handle it. Your priority is to protect the townspeople."

"Under no circumstances are any of you or your squad members allowed to include them in the conflict," Umemiya warned, his tone making everyone straighten their spines a bit. "They struck first and injured our medic, an action we cannot overlook. They may be strong, but we're stronger. They step onto our turf with weapons in their hands and evil in their hearts, so you know what to do when they decide to do something with it."

"Purge them with no exception," you finished, keeping your chin held high despite your slouched form. Everyone nodded and responded in unison before dispersing with newfound determination that they would soon spread to their underclassmen as they went out for patrol.

As Sakura went through his normal routes for patrol with his eyes peeled, he thought back to the way you spoke to the crowd of Bofurin members. He admired your display of strength, the way you stood up and talked with authority despite the pain you were in.

Both you and Umemiya were perfect examples of how a leader is supposed to be, and Sakura was sure to take notes. He would need it when he would take over Bofurin, one day in the semi-distant future.

But for now, remembering you and Umemiya and your chemistry together as leaders and... something else, Sakura couldn't help but think that he had a long, long way to go.

—————

Silence enveloped the table before Suo let out a laugh. "I didn't know you had a sense of humor, Sakura-san."

Sakura sputtered, pushing his chair back as he stood up. "I'm not jokin'! There's definitely something going on between them — even I can see that."

Nirei smiled nervously, playing with the pages of his small notebook that he carried everywhere. "I'm sorry Sakura-san, but even with the... proof that you told us, I still don't think they like each other that way."

"You're just saying that because you're used to seeing them act that way with each other!" Sakura argued. "I'm tellin' ya, if they were just friends, there's no way they'd be acting the way they do!"

Kotoha shamelessly eavesdropped on their conversation with a smile on her face. She was having trouble stifling her giggles as she whipped out her phone and clicked on Umemiya's contact to send him a message:

Looks like you lovebirds need to be more discreet. The first years are getting suspicious about you two.

Umemiya cracked an eye open when he felt his phone buzz on his chest, raising it to his eye level from where he laid on your lap on the wooden bench in the rooftop.

He let out a chuckle and nudged your thigh. "Look at this."

You put down your own phone and read the texts from Kotoha, and you let out a small laugh. "I suppose we've been quite bold recently," you hummed, your fingers tangling with Umemiya's hair and massaging his scalp.

Umemiya sighed, eyes fluttering shut as he enjoyed your gentle touch. "Nah, I think it's all 'cause of Sakura's outsider perspective. We've been acting the same as we always have been, but no one's brought it up until now."

"I guess so," you shrugged. "Are we gonna do something about it, Haji?"

He opened his eyes and looked up at you, his blue eyes drifting over every feature of your face, all the beauty and imperfections that he loved to death. "Are you fine with them finding out?" He asked you.

"Yeah," you said without hesitation. "It's not like I'm ashamed of you."

Umemiya grinned, making you flush slightly before hiding your face from him. It wasn't often you were this soft with him, and he enjoyed every moment.

"I knew you loved me," he cooed, and you scoffed, rolling your eyes.

You picked up your phone with a free hand and shot a text to Kotoha before putting it back down to play with his hair again. "Nah, just embarrassed of your lovesick behavior."

"Admit it, you enjoy it!" He sang, and you flicked his forehead, making him whine and hide his face in your stomach. You laughed, eyes crinkling as you basked in the moment with the boy you grew to care for beyond the boundaries of friendship.

Kotoha's phone lit up, and she checked the text you sent her.

Let them be. It's about time people gained vision and actually noticed something.

Kotoha smiled, putting down her phone and prepping another meal for Sakura and his friends.

She was your and Umemiya's number one shipper, and she was so happy that people were noticing both of you more and more. Soon enough, she can yap to someone about how annoying Umemiya gets when he isn't with you, and how you act annoyed when he's overbearing like that, but you still deal with it.

Because no matter what you say, she could tell that you loved her brother just as much as he loved you, and that was enough.

#umemiya x reader #windbreaker #windbreaker x reader #hajime umemiya #wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #hajime umemiya x reader #sakura haruka #suo hayato #bofurin

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arminsumi · 2 years ago

Text

I want to kiss you / キスしたい

G. Satoru

NOTE: i recently started learning to write in japanese for not much reason other than to occupy my mind with something new. this little daydream came to me and i can't stop thinking about it, i think falling in love despite a language barrier is one of the purest and sweetest ways to fall in love.

WARNINGS — it might be fem reader idk, kissing 👍, ur married w him at the end, not proofread lol i'm snuggled up in bed ok

Satoru cant speak english and you cant speak japanese; Suguru is the translator friend. You met him online years ago, who knows how. But you hit it off, and four years of friendship rolled by.

Satoru heard all about Y/n and saw you many times when Suguru facetimed or called you. You and him had many cute, playful interactions, ranging from making hearthands at each other to flipping each other off and laughing about it. Sometimes Satoru would be sat off-camera, overloading Suguru with things to translate, because he had a lot to say to you. One time, Suguru left for a few minutes to get a pizza delivery, and then Satoru got very quiet and the two of you blinked at your screens.

"Hi."

And then you two for some reason started laughing with your whole chests, Suguru walked in with a confused smirk. He joked, "Sooo... what did you and Satoru talk about while I was gone?" He asked, gentle accent coming through in soft waves. "The mysteries of the universe." You replied. Satoru was already diving into the pizza box, but he still listened to you speak; he wondered what you had said, maybe you used some fancy words to say that you liked him? He'd be lying if he said he didn't memorize variations of "i like you" after that. He was paranoid that he could miss you saying that you liked him.

You managed a slow, meticulously-pronounced nice to meet you in Japanese when you finally visited Tokyo. It was at the airport. You and Suguru had shared many hugs — good grief, you'd seen height comparisons many times but none painted a real idea of just how big these boys were. But Satoru? He was loudmouthed on a screen and surprisingly shy in person. Eventually he hugged you and didn't let go. He even got so comfy as to hang and cling to your body like you saw him doing with Suguru in countless photos and videos.

Though you could barely pronounce the little Japanese that you picked up, Satoru felt giddy to hear your pretty voice in his language. He listened to you like you were reciting love poetry to him, fists under his chin and eyes starry. But you were just saying basic phrases, boring things — nothing that articulated your thoughts properly.

He was far too embarrassed to try and speak any English when he first met you, even though after developing a crush on you he did start learning some English on the side. He knew quite a bit, but listening was so impossibly difficult it frustrated him like nothing else. He was also self-conscious of his English accent, though Suguru tried to assure him that he sounded very cute and almost oddly British.

So often instead of attempting to speak tiny phrases to you, Satoru threw a lot of hand motions and signals your way which got the two of you and Suguru laughing — poor Sugie, he was always translating even the smallest things you said even if you muttered them under your breath, because Satoru was eager to know every little thought and expression you had, even if you were simply commenting on the weather.

Once you commented that it was so hot, you were visiting during a heatwave-filled summer. Satoru raised his brows at Suguru expectantly, and you heard a familiar translation;

暑い。

It's hot.

There was such a frustrating language barrier between the two of you, it became more evident when you had finally flown over the sea to meet them.

Yet you and satoru fell in love silently and beautifully, your love flowing like a river in the most unexpected directions. You felt his affection emanating from his irises. You and him joked around, and talked — though you had no idea what the other meant most of the time. Sometimes the two of you gave up and you talked in English, he responded with Japanese, and it went on like that very comedically until Suguru came back to bridge the gap.

Lots of time was spent putting your heads together over your phone, reading translations of what you wanted to say to each other.

One day, when Suguru left the two of you alone in his apartment kitchen so that he could hop to the convenience store, Satoru typed something into the translator and let you read it. Your face warmed up.

キスしたい。

I want to kiss you.

He looks at you expectantly.

You type back to him.

Then kiss me.

それからキスして。

He blushed and hesistated, the two of you making electric eye contact for a while before he boyishly pecked your lips to test if you liked his kiss, but oh that's all the two of you needed to realize just how much you liked each other. You melted into each other like your bodies were made for nothing else but to embrace and be one. He shook a little, tentatively gliding his lips over yours. His hands nervously cupped your cheeks. With the way he handled you so carefully, you'd think you were made of porcelain.

Your reciprocation meant everything to him. His confidence flourished. The soft smacking, wet sounds got louder when he kissed you more passionately. Those gentle hands found their way to the back of your neck, and he softly pressed you closer to him as if he was scared you would pull away. What if you changed your mind mid-kiss? He was overthinking and you wouldn't have even guessed it, because you thought he was in the same blissed out dream state as you were. So high on kissing that the world fell away.

The two of you started smiling embarrassedly, grinning so hard that you couldn't continue kissing. Then the two of you just giggled against each other's faces — a subconscious realization swept him; laughter and kissing are their own languages.

Yes as years passed and you visited time and time again, your Japanese improved and his English improved. When you moved to Japan, eventually you adopted a messy mix of Japanese and English with Satoru. He liked showing off how perfectly he could pronounce things, and you liked showing off that you could write very neat kana.

Years and years and years passed and when you and him were married in your own little apartment, starting a life together, a very fluent Satoru reminisced about how the two of you fell in love despite barely speaking to each other.

"It was your eyes for me." You said.

"Oh really? It was your voice for me. I didn't know what you were saying, but it sounded nice." He said.

"Mmm I liked your voice, too." You said, snuggling your head on his shoulder. He basked in the attention, though it was common, it always felt special for him. The smallest hand touches and wrist kisses made his heart lurch.

"Remember when I always nagged Suguru to translate every little thing you said?"

"Yeah, you worked him to the bone." You chuckled.

"I just wanted to know what you were saying. I had such a crush on you, looking back now it was even ridiculous how much I liked you considering the barrier and all."

"Ooh, did you?"

"How is this surprising? We're married??"

"Oh yeah."

#🗑️ — trash #♥️ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 — 五条悟 #gojo #gojo satoru #fluff #gojo fluff #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x fem reader #satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk gojo #satoru gojo

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moonstruckme · 7 months ago

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Hi Mae since u said u would be willing to do an ED reader here's a lil idea for James or tasm Peter but them with a gf who had a really bad ED before they met (he doesn't know) and she starts to relapse and he thinks she's just too stressed to eat or something (idk u can pick how the topic comes up) and just her telling him and him comforting her (this is a bit self indulgent bc idk how to tell anyone I'm dating that I'm struggling)

Hi lovely, thank you for your request!

cw: discussion and depiction of eating disorder, anxiety

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 916 words

You don’t seem much up for talking at dinnertime. Which is fine. James can talk for the both of you.

He prattles on about Sirius’ one-way rivalry with the temp at his work while you cast him half-hearted, flickering smiles and push your food around your plate. He’s made sesame tofu, a first for James but he thought it turned out all right. His plate is clean, whereas yours is all mixed up but he’s fairly sure you’ve only eaten a couple of green beans.

You don’t appear to notice when he finishes his story. Your fork seems almost limp in your hand.

“If you don’t like it,” James says lightly, “I don’t mind making you something else, lovely.”

You look surprised, then guilty. “No, sorry, it’s good.”

It’s not like you would know, but James isn’t cruel enough to point that out. Aside from his own ego, he has other reasons to suspect his cooking has little to do with this.

You’ve been strung up tight, lately. There’s a lot going on at work, some conflict with your boss you don’t really want to talk about, and drama in your family you want to talk about even less. James has tried to make home as comfortable and easy for you as he can, but understandably you’ve grown withdrawn, seemingly exhausted all day long. He wishes he knew how to do more for you. Wishes he could cast a bubble of pure goodness to put you inside so the only things that could get to you were the lovely things you deserve.

“I know you’re stressed,” he says, gently as he can, “but you’ve got to eat, you know? It’s probably cold by now, you could have something else if it’s easier.”

Something painful twinges in your expression. James reaches for your hand on instinct.

“I get that you’ve got a lot going on, angel. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but we could.”

You sigh. “No, it’s…I don’t think it’s what you’re thinking, Jamie.”

James frowns, but forces himself to stay quiet. He has the familiar sense that all he’s doing is putting his foot in his mouth.

After a minute, you say quietly, eyes lingering to the side of your plate, “I haven’t always been able to eat properly. It’s been…I’m a lot better about it than I used to be, but it’s still difficult sometimes. Like now.”

Your hand feels tensed inside of James’. His heart has begun to ache lowly. James thinks he knows the term for what you’re trying to tell him, but he’s not about to lob it at you now, not if it could only make you feel worse. He tries comforting you the surest way he can think of, smoothing his thumb along the side of your hand.

It at least seems to relax you enough to say more. “You’re not too far off, I guess, because it is sometimes worse when I’m anxious.” You glance up at him tentatively, an attempt at a smile on your lips. “Food’s just a bit more difficult for me right now.”

“I’m sorry I brought it up like that,” says James, earnestness aching in the back of his throat.

You lift a shoulder. “How could you have known? Sorry I haven’t been eating your cooking.”

“That’s not your fault, sweetheart.” Your gaze flees his again. Guilt and shame quiet James’ voice. “I’m sorry, I thought you were only stressed.”

You give a little laugh. “I guess I am stressed.”

“Yeah, and for good reason, but…can I hug you?”

You nod, and James gets out of his chair, bending awkwardly to get his arms around you. Your fingertips press into the muscles of his shoulders.

“It’s not quite so simple as stress, though, is it?” he murmurs into your shirt.

He feels your chest contract with a sigh. “No,” you admit.

“What can I do to help?”

“I don’t think there’s anything you can do, Jamie.”

“Not accuse you of not liking my cooking, though, surely.”

Another little laugh, this one seemingly more genuine. “Yeah, that would help a bit, actually.”

James worries about smothering you, backs up enough to see your face. His hands want to go there, too, one for each cheek.

“Please tell me if you think of anything,” he says. You don’t agree but don’t look away from him either, which James figures is about as good as he’s going to get. “Would it be any easier if we ate in front of the telly?”

You chew your lip. “It might, yeah. I’m not sure.”

“You don’t have to make any promises,” he assures you, taking up your plate and bringing it into the kitchen. “Do you want me to reheat this for you? Or we could have something else?”

You linger at the edge of the kitchen, fingers bundled up in your sleeves. “I’d like to try to finish that, if that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay, m’love. More than okay.” James presses some buttons on the microwave, then turns to you, requisitioning you for another hug. He kisses your hair. “Thank you for telling me.”

Your voice is soft. “Thank you for listening.”

He scoffs, squeezing you around the middle so that you squeal. “You make it sound like a chore. Don’t be so ridiculous.” James presses another kiss to your hair before releasing you. “Go find something good for us to watch, sweetheart, I’ll be there in a minute.”

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darlingdaisyfarm · 16 days ago

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HEYY!! DIDN’T NOTICE THE ASK BUTTON UNTIL NOW! IM JUST WONDERING HOW YOUR DOING, AND HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAYYY (I apologize for not saying sooner, just found out how to like idk ask or something)

I SWEAR I DON’T MEAN TO SOUND PUSHY OR IF I ASK TOO MANY TIMES, PLEASE JUST SAY IF UTS ANNOYING, BUT DO YOU HAVE: “Jealous!Stanford Pines x Reader” ? CAUSE IDK IM JUST CURIOUS 😭💔

⋆౨ৎ˚ jealous!Ford x you hcs ˖ ࣪

ahhh, thank u so much sweetheart!! no it's not annoying at all, pls dont say that. and sure, here it is! honestly it was pretty helpful for me too because im writing a fic where Ford experiences jealousy. i think it also depends on what exactly he's jealous of (his own brother, random person, pet, etc) and your stage of the relationship

warning its a bit suggestive at the end

ꪆৎ Ford's jealous streak is most obvious when it comes to your mind, i think. like, if you’re showing too much interest in someone else’s ideas, books, or theories, he’ll be the first to drop some passive-aggressive comments

ꪆৎ you’re talking about some science or philosophy with someone, and Ford’s watching, feeling that tiny gnawing jealousy of someone challenging his brilliance. . . he won’t snap, but you'll catch him slipping in little comments, “well, actually, my research on this subject. . . ah, never mind. not worth mentioning to a layperson” ofc it's not directed at you! but to that idiot who dared to interest you

ꪆৎ later, though, after a long talk, he’ll pull you into his study and try to “explain” why only his thoughts matter <333 “you should know, sweetheart, i have 12 phds, allow me to explain you this properly.”

ꪆৎ “what? i’m not upset. i just think it’s interesting that you laughed at his joke when i’ve been trying to impress you with my brain for three years.”

ꪆৎ he starts touching you more too. hand on your knee during conversations. brushing your fingers when handing you smth. standing behind you, palm at the small of your back when you’re with others. and yet still, he doesn’t say a word because he doesn't wanna ruin anything. but his body moves on its own. “this is mine,” is what he’s trying to say

ꪆৎ Stan has always been the loud, charismatic one. Ford’s the thinker, the quiet one, who would rather bury himself in books than make small talk but he just cant help it. Ford doesn’t like it, he doesn’t like how his heart races with frustration or how his fists ball up, wanting to grab you and pull you away. he wont do it, but it doesn't mean he cant imagine it

ꪆৎ if you wear something revealing, Ford absolutely adores it, but insists on walking right next to you all evening

ꪆৎ he overhears you talking about a celebrity crush and spends ten minutes googling them in secret, furiously comparing their jawlines, yeah

ꪆৎ OMG. i believe he clears his throat when someone flirts with you... you know

ꪆৎ if it’s Stan flirting with you, Ford plays it off like he’s above it “Stanley, can you be serious for once?” but his eyes are laser-focused on you, reading your expression

ꪆৎ lmao, you'll probably hear smth as “i hope you had a pleasant conversation with my brother. he can be. . . charming, when he wishes.” prob says it with the politeness of someone screaming internally. and then he obsessively throws himself into work, convinced he's being ridiculous. you're allowed to have friends. you’re not his. not really

ꪆৎ i mean, he wants you to be. but he's terrified of what he might become if he lets himself act like it

ꪆৎ a lot of phrases like “well, i would’ve helped you carry that, but i assume your new friend has that covered.”

“no, go ahead! ill wait. im clearly not as exciting to talk to.” he’ll say it politely though, you wont even notice. even with a smile. and if you don’t pick up on it, he gets quiet and tells himself he’s just being irrational, but it still eats him alive

ꪆৎ Ford still tries to suppress it, but his eyes give him away. he stares. hard. at the person touching you. at the way your mouth curves. at your hands when they gesture

ꪆৎ and if he lets this jealousy win in the public, which happens like really rarely, Ford will absolutely pull you away from a conversation. six fingered hand at your elbow, “excuse us” and you’ll be halfway down the hall before he spins you against the wall

ꪆৎ but may also say, when you're two alone after you spend whole evening talking to someone, “oh, im sorry, were you enjoying yourself? you seemed so. . . engaged with them. i didn’t want to interrupt.”

ꪆৎ you get a pet. a cat, a dog, whatever. and suddenly your affection is going to this creature and not him. Ford doesn’t act out but he gets so still. sits next to you while you pet it, hand on your thigh, but not saying a word. you look over and he finally admits, looking so needy, “i’m being ridiculous but i want to be babied too” so you pull him into your lap instead and he kisses your shoulder with a quiet smile <3

ꪆৎ he gets also weirdly sulky about it. “you let the cat sleep on your chest, when it's my turn?”, “i counted, you kissed it on the head four times. i only got two :(” yes he’s serious. he’s a little unwell

ꪆৎ uhh, u call your pet “baby” and Ford visibly pouts

ꪆৎ if you’re talking to someone “too long” at a gathering, Ford won’t interrupt. but he will appear silently next to you, hand brushing your lower back, and when you finally break away and turn to him like “what’s up?” he’ll smile, as always, so polite. “nothing. i just missed the sound of your voice”

“that person seemed very interested in you. lucky them.”

“did you like the way they looked at you?”

ꪆৎ and the thing is, he’s insecure. so when he’s possessive, it’s always laced with guilt. Ford hates that he wants to stake a claim. hates how it feels to need you so much it makes his skin crawl when you’re focused on someone else

ꪆৎ Ford's jealousy always turns into guilt. he’s always so self-critical, he feels like he should be better than this. Ford knows it’s irrational, that you wouldn’t cheat or leave him for someone else, but it doesn’t stop the surge of possessiveness.

ꪆৎ he can’t help but feel like maybe he’s not enough for you, and that’s what sparks the jealousy in the first place. he feels the jealousy deep in his chest, this irrational, ugly thing he can’t quite stamp out

ꪆৎ he’ll kiss your neck just a little too hard. grip your wrist too long. but it’s always followed by “was that okay?” or “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to get carried away.” and god help him if you ever tease him for it

ꪆৎ “ohhh, baby. you’re jealous, aren’t you?” he’ll bristle, sputter, adjust his coat and glasses, trying to avoid looking into your eyes. “that’s ridiculous. i— no, i simply don’t appreciate disrespect. I’m not. . . possessive.” but when you'll play this game of silence, watching him, waiting him to spill it, oh he will!! “okay. was it that obvious?” he’ll say this so small. you’ll want to eat him alive <3

ꪆৎ Ford doesn’t always keep it all bottled up, so then, when you’re finally alone and he got u all to himself, he’s kissing you, but being more rough about it, not like hurting you, but sometimes, i like when Ford gets more dominant and brave in his actions. hand around your jaw, palm splayed across your back, pulling you in. “you’re mine.” he'll whisper right into your lips because hes lowkey getting turned on by your little gasps whenever he tightens his grip. “no one else gets to hear these sounds from you. please, tell me, tell me im the only one.” he always has to ask, always needs to hear it back

ꪆৎ if you ever jokingly mention how hot he gets when jealous, he will hide his face in your shoulder/neck/hair, very very quietly muttering, “you’re cruel, honey, you enjoy making me lose my mind, don’t you?”

#gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you #ford pines x reader #gravity falls #x reader #stanford pines #ford pines smut #ford pines x you #grunkle ford #stanford pines headcanons #stanford pines x you #stanford pines x reader

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cup-o-stars · 10 months ago

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How to draw like you no borax

Good question!

I'd warn against following my process (at least if you want to learn), but I'll be honest and show you, lol. (Heads up: this is just how I do FAN art. When having fun, I generally care less about the fundamentals.)

1. I slap down super rough sketches, jotting lines/expressions like bullet points of my idea. Pretty much stick figures with just enough detail to remember who's who later. Not shown here, I also move, resize, and add details to express the intended composition if I'm planning something larger. You may notice a lot of curved lines / haphazard circles.

2. I refine the sketch by drawing it with more intention and build structure with slightly blockier shapes. If I'm really struggling with a pose, this is also where I'll find references or look at myself for bits and pieces to fill in the gaps. (When practicing, I would highly recommend using a reference from the start so all your limbs are an appropriate length and you don't need to say things like "that's passable" right before posting. If you're a perfectionist you'll leave that thought with the rough sketch.)

3. I'll decide around here whether or not to leave the sketch as is or commit to lineart (not likely). I guess I'd say I "shape the lines" here by going over some to add thickness/weight, and by adding basic sort-of-shading to break things up a little. Then I'll just fill in space if the page looks empty. (Usually this is where I incorporate the borax, but I hear baking soda works nicely if you're worried.)

4. Onto coloring. I don't feel confident enough to pretend I know what I'm doing here, lol. I just choose my base colors, imagine the general direction of the light source, then add minor gradients to the light and dark layers so they don't look flat. Then I just add some BS highlights and outline them. I've only recently found the motivation to properly practice coloring and just go with the flow tbh.

You may notice that Nami's forearm is too long, her hand looks like a pancake and Chopper has no joints! My kind sibling explained to me once that my anatomy is poor, but cohesive enough that nothing stands out too bad, lol. That's why it is important to use references!! And if you're me, practice all parts of anatomy at the same time with full bodies so that even when you're at a loss, your hands aren't that much better than your feet.

All in all, to draw like me, just have a very hedonistic approach to art, ha. Draw what you want, avoid getting burnt out on any single piece (sometimes that happens when you try to perfect drawings one at a time), and follow my personal motto:

Make fun, not masterpieces.

Idk how helpful this was, but there you have it!

#drawing #one piece #fanart #nico robin #luffy #ask

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devdozes · 2 months ago

Text

♥wifi ritual

idk man, hope yall like it even though i made this cuz i was bored

The café was comfortably warm, the hum of coffee machines blending with soft indie music overhead. You sat at a corner table, sipping on your overpriced latte as you tapped away at your tablet. The place wasn’t too crowded—just a handful of customers lost in their own worlds, either working, scrolling through their phones, or chatting in hushed voices.

Your laptop sat open, but the Wi-Fi was painfully slow. The café’s connection was nearly unusable, so, with a sigh, you decided to do what any chaotic individual would do. You turned on your personal hotspot, set the name to something entirely unhinged, and leaned back with a smirk.

"Scream PENIS whoever wants the Wi-Fi password."

It was a joke. A dumb joke. A joke you never expected anyone to actually acknowledge. It was just one of those things you did for your own amusement, waiting to see if anyone would at least notice and maybe snicker to themselves before moving on with their lives.

You didn’t expect anyone to actually do it.

But then—

“PENIS!!”

The entire café went dead silent.

Your brain short-circuited.

Slowly, so painfully slowly, you turned your head toward the source of the voice.

There, standing in the middle of the café, was a man with silver hair, bright cyan eyes, and an expression of absolute, unshaken confidence. His long, elegant coat draped over his frame like he had just stepped out of a fashion editorial, yet his stance was casual, almost relaxed, as if screaming profanities in public was an everyday occurrence for him.

You knew who he was. Phainon. One of the most eccentric and unpredictable members of the Flamechasers. You’d seen his name in countless reports, heard stories about his antics, but nothing—nothing—could have prepared you for this.

The other café patrons all turned to stare at him in stunned silence, their expressions ranging from mild horror to barely concealed amusement. The barista at the counter looked like they were debating whether or not they should ask him to leave.

Meanwhile, Phainon simply glanced around, looking vaguely pleased with himself, before tilting his head at you.

“Well? I screamed. Where’s my Wi-Fi password?”

You lost it.

A strangled wheeze escaped your throat as you hunched over, nearly knocking over your drink. Your shoulders shook violently as laughter burst from your chest, and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t stop.

He actually did it.

He actually got up in the middle of a public café and screamed the word “penis” at full volume for Wi-Fi.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you gasped between uncontrollable wheezes. You had no idea how to react. You were the one who set the trap, but you never thought anyone would walk into it so confidently.

Phainon, completely unbothered by your near-breakdown, walked over and slid into the seat across from you, resting his chin in his palm. His cyan eyes sparkled with amusement.

“What’s so funny? I followed the instructions.”

You had to slap a hand over your mouth to muffle another ugly cackle.

This man was insane.

Struggling to breathe, you finally managed to unlock your phone, shaking from laughter, and typed the password into a note. Turning the screen toward him, you exhaled through your nose, still giggling uncontrollably.

“There. You earned it, champ.”

Phainon hummed, taking out his own device and casually connecting as if he hadn’t just publicly humiliated himself for internet access. After a few seconds, he gave a satisfied nod.

“Nice. Thanks.”

You wiped at your eyes, still occasionally wheezing as you took a sip of your now slightly colder latte. The secondhand embarrassment you should have felt never came—this was way too funny for that.

Finally, once you’d somewhat regained composure, you looked at him properly. “…Do you just do whatever instructions tell you to?”

Phainon smirked. “Only if they amuse me.”

You leaned back, crossing your arms, your grin still plastered on your face. “You do realize the whole café now thinks you’re clinically insane, right?”

He shrugged. “Let them think whatever they want. I got what I wanted." and then looks at you with a smirk before continuing— "Well, Since I'm here, May I get your number? Or should I do another embarrassing act just for you?" damn.

sticking out your gyat for the rizzler (phainon)

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #fanfiction #fem reader #hsr fanfiction #fem y/n #hsr x you #honkai star rail fanfiction #phainon x reader #amphoreus x reader #hsr phainon x reader #hsr phainon #honkai star rail phainon #phainon x you #phainon fanfiction #phainon #phainon hsr #phainon honkai star rail

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lostinlovingrevery · 3 months ago

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Can you write an insecure!reader who has stutters or nervous tics or anything that prevents her from talking easily so she just rathers to keep quiet because it kind of embarrases her, even with her boyfriend Logan

It can be any Logan you picture!! Be free with the idea too

Glossophobia

Trilogy! Logan X F! Reader

You prefer to stay quiet, keep to yourself, and do your work, but you're asked to do something that fills you with anxiety, and Logan talks it out with you

A/N: I'm sorry this took me so long! I really wanted to write this properly. I had to take speech therapy when I was a kid (had a LOT of trouble with my S, C, and Th sounds), not to mention I would get tons of anxiety speaking to groups of people or people I didn't know. It hits a lil close to home. Hope you enjoy! Also Idk why trilogy Logan called out to me for this one...

Warnings: Sort of a subplot included, reader is a scientist apart of X-men, a bit of angst, reader gets frustrated, anxiety, a small moment of comparison to others, Logan being a sweetheart and supportive, Charles jumpscares reader (there's no way Charles randomly popping in your head wouldn't scare the shit out of you), open ending

“Can you explain these results to me?”

You looked up from the microscope, examining the broken down elements of a particular Rice Krispie cereal, the cereal box sitting nearby- the cartoon character on it seemingly staring at you in a mocking manner. Hank stood there with a stack papers in hand, looking at you questioningly past his glasses.

You took a deep breath, pushing yourself from the table, you reached your hand out for the papers, taking them gently from his hand. A deep sigh as you glanced over the papers, words forming in your head in what to say- how to explain it. You understood it completely, you wrote the paper.

Just, talking about it went a little differently.

You let out a breath, “Okay…” You paused, as you read the results again. Hank waited patiently. Then you dropped the papers in your lap and you looked up at Hank with a raised eyebrow. “There's no way that you don’t understand this, Hank.” You point at him. “You are a doctor after all” You say.

“I just want to hear your interpretation, not the science. I don’t quite understand the section regarding biological functions. That is your specialty you know…”

You looked up at him, with a displeased expression, before taking the papers back in your hand, flipping through to find the section Hank is talking about. “Okay.” you reread them for the third time. “Um, S..s..so, this is basically just an explanation about how drugs affect the system.” You begin.

“Right.” Hank nods, he turns grabbing a chair nearby, and pulls it up to sit next to you. “You write about how it binds to DNA cells, which then affect the hormone cycle.”

You nodded.

“How?” Hank asks, a small shake of his head indicating he didn’t understand.

“It’s…It’s the same way alcohol affects hormones.” You explain. “It…affects the um, the levels of testosterone, in a man’s body. The oestrogen, in a woman’s. Except with this- it doesn’t reduce the fertility. It c-c-lings to the spermatozoa or ovum of the individual, and…” You pause to take a breath, sitting straighter in your chair. Hank was staring at you, listening intently. While you appreciate the fact that he wanted to hear your explanation….

All the research is. Right. There!

“It attacks the cells that uh, have the potential to include or actually, form a mutation.”

“Fascinating and terrible.” Hank shook his head. “This is an amazing discovery on your part dear.”

“I wish it was for something better.” You force a smile to him, as you look back down at the papers. “Is that all you want to know?”

“Actually-” Hank sat up, leaning over to the papers as he began to point at various sections, he began to talk about different points in your paper, asking for clarification as you stare at him with silent dread.

After that grueling conversation, you were finally left alone in your lab. Thankfully.

It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy talking to Hank, you were both like-minded people, who enjoyed hardcore science, and drama-ridden soap operas. You just weren’t a talker, which is why you preferred pursuing research over medicine.

With research, you’re sitting in a quiet room, focused on your own tasks, and writing your notes to type up a paper later. Occasionally quiet small talk over the water cooler, a little;

“How's your day?”

“Fine, yours?”

A goodbye and back to work.

Hank pushed you to explain and explain. Which was fine, totally fine, at least he wanted to make sure he understood everything before he brought the papers up to Congress, your papers, evidence, and commentary of the genetically modified food you have discovered. You rather not have your research being mistaken, especially since it was dire that things change, and fast.

It’s just the more you talked, the more you paused, the more you stuttered, the more you misused a word, or went “um” for the 4th time in a sentence; and the more anxious you got as you began to wonder if Hank was getting annoyed. Not once did his expression change as he listened to you attempt to explain your research in more casual wording, patience was always a virtue of Hanks.

It still left you overthinking.

You attempted to go back to your work, resting in the silence that filled the room. Your nerves settled as you forced yourself to ignore your anxiety over the conversation with Hank. Just as you were getting ready to peer back into the microscope, to finish taking your notes on the most recent discovery of yet another popular food, genetically modified to attack mutant cells.

It’s too bad, this type of cereal were yours and Marie's favorite and now you can’t be bothered to eat them. It makes you cringe to even have to buy the damn things just so you can confirm that yes, this major brand is also poisoning mutants and damning your futures.

What a bunch of dicks

Just as you placed your eyes over the ocular lens of the microscope, Charles voice appeared in your head- scaring the hell out of you and making you jump.

“Jesus!” You yelped, jumping out of your chair and tipping over the box of the cereal. You heard Charles apologize sympathetically for startling you, then requesting you to come to his study.

You sighed, standing there as you watched the cereal pour out onto the floor, creating a mess. You watched the grains form a small pile, a conceding expression on your face as your shoulders slump.

Deciding to clean it up later, you left the lab to go to Charles study, and find out what he needs you for.

“I think you should present this research.”

Your face fell at Charles words. “Ex..Excuse me?” You ask, your blood running cold at the sound of presenting. You let out a small nervous laugh. “No…No way.” You shook your head.

Charles smiled sympathetically, “Now I know you don’t like doing it, but you’re the one who discovered this. You deserve the credit.”

“That’s why my name is on the p-p-paper!” You exclaimed. “Besides no one, is-is going to want to listen to me.”

“Now that’s not true.” Charles says, straightening his shoulders, clasping his hands together on top his desk.

“There’s no reason for me to present!” You hands flew out. “Hank- can do it just fine. I…cannot do it Professor. You know I hate t-talking a lot, much less in front of people.” You attempt to keep your voice steady, not allowing much emotion to fall through but you were unfortunately failing terribly.

Not that it mattered anyway, Charles could easily read your mind and see how you felt about it. You enjoyed the telepathy Charles and Jean both had, which allowed you to not always have to talk out loud with them. Nonetheless it become a tad bit awkward eventually when Jean and you are in a lab together in complete silence, and she randomly blurts out responses to things you were thinking about.

“Think about it.” Charles says gently, and you purse your lips together, and force yourself to nod.

You knew Charles had good intentions. He was always trying to get you out of your shell, especially ever since you came here. You just can’t do it. It’s hard enough on your own, talking to people you considered family. You found yourself embarrassed at your own voice most of the time, preferring to just stay quiet. Talking in front of strangers? Congress?

Absolutely. Not.

You were now at your desk, your chin resting on your clasped hands; staring down at your papers with a frown. You weren’t reading the papers, you weren’t even seeing the papers. Looking past them, as you obsessed over the conversation with Hank, and Charles earlier in the morning.

Why can’t you just do it?

You hadn’t noticed Logan slipping inside. A big goofy smile on his face as he walks up to your desk, slowly fading as he notices the intense look in your expression, the way you were glaring down at your papers. He recognized the grumpy look, the look that tells him you were having a bad day - and was gonna need some TLC.

He came up from your side, standing behind your chair as he leaned over you, a hand pressing to your desk to brace himself.

You still hadn’t noticed his looming figure yet, until your eyes just happened to flip over to his hand, in which you lifted your head up in confusion, before turning to look up, scanning the familiar and muscular arm, and landing on Logan's face. He quirked a brow, a small smile spread across it, as he leaned down to press a soft greeting kiss to your lips.

You returned it, eventually melting into it as a smile formed on your face. He parted from you, a loud smooch echoed in the room.

“What’s it take for a guy to get noticed by ya, huh bub?” He teases.

“Sorry...” You mutter bashfully looking away. He moved to lean against your desk, crossing his arms.

“Still working?”

“Uh, no.” You shook your head, not looking up at him.

“You were glaring at these papers pretty hard like they said something to offend you.”

You fiddled with some of the papers, not saying anything. He observed your body language, the way you were closed in on yourself, avoiding looking at him, and not speaking much. Meant that you were having a really bad day.

“Hey.” His voice low, as his hand reaches over to tip your chin up at him. His brows creased together in focus, but his expression was lighthearted. “You okay?”

“M’fine.” You mutter.

“Something happen?”

Your eyes finally reached his. You waited a moment, “Lo?”

“Hm?”

“Does…Do how I t-talk..Bother you?”

He blinks, his chin tipping back a bit, as if he were baffled by your question. Then he tilts his head, brows creasing as he examines you. “How you talk?” He shook his head, “What do you mean?”

You sigh looking down, removing yourself from his hand. Chewing on your lip, you began to pick at your nails - already thinned down from your encounters this morning. “You know what…I mean.” You glance back up at him. “I s-s- stutter, a lot. I can never just…Say what I want to say.”

His brows creased, he tilted his head, examining your face. “I….Don’t get it. I mean, is there stuff you want to say?”

“No I mean- When I talk, I…. have trouble getting it out and I start to s.s..stutter- Like that!” Your hands went in the air in frustration.

“Woah, woah, settle down.” His hands went to your arms. “I don’t notice it, and I don’t think anyone else does, and if they do, who gives a shit?”

You sigh in frustration, a little embarrassment overcoming you. You never really talked about this with Logan before, only mentioning in passing during the timing of your friendship. When you got together, you really couldn’t bring yourself to talk about it to him. You were afraid of pointing it out, that he would notice it more if you did. Maybe he would get sick of it. Especially when the other ladies here, like Ororo, or Jean, seems to speak perfectly clear with no hesitation in their words.

You didn’t want the way you spoke noticed, or to be compared in anyway to your peers. So you simply chose not speaking much. When asked for your opinions, inputs, etc, you simply opted for the easy answer, or simply redirecting the conversation to someone else.

Your conversation with Charles put you on edge though. On one hand, you don’t want to turn him down. You knew he meant well and has high hopes for you but that merely filled you with more anxiety that if you really went up on that podium and spoke in front of congress- representing X-men and mutants alike, you were going to be an embarrassment. You certainly held a passion for this research, and want to contribute to protecting your fellow mutants, but this…

“Hey-” Logans voice cut through your thoughts again. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Stop that.” He says firmly, then moving to kneel in front of you, his hands on your knees. “We talked about this before.” He says, referring to your conversations from the past, about opening up to each other more. You weren’t the only one who didn’t like to talk much, yet Logan’s “talking” was more about his feelings, rather than physical speaking. You let out a small sigh.

“The way I t-talk. It’s like I…swallow my words. It doesn’t annoy you?”

“Of course not.” Logan says. “Did I…Ever act like it did?”

You shook your head, and a small bit of relief came across his face. “So what’s this about bub?”

“Charles…Asked me to p-p-present my findings to Congress, instead of Hank.” You look down at where your hands were on your lap, Logans hands resting over yours. “I…don’t want to.”

“Then don’t.” Logan replies with a small shrug.

“But Charles-”

“You don’t gotta do a damn thing just cause Chuck asked you to.” He says with a shake of his head. “If you want to do it, do it, if you don’t want to, don’t. You don’t need to prove anything.”

“It’s just with this…This..The way I talk…” You forced yourself to look up at him. “I, I’m c-c-constantly wondering when people are going to snap at me.”

“Fuck em.”

You blinked in surprise, and a small laugh escaped you. “Lo!”

“I’m serious.” He raised a brow, his expression and tone evident that he was indeed serious. “Someone’s gonna be a dick, fuck em. Tell em that to their face. In fact I’ll do it for you. Don’t need to waste your time on someone like that.”

You giggled, shaking your head and closing your eyes as you tipped your chin downwards. A faint smile appeared on Logans lips as he watched you. You opened your eyes and looked back up at him, and for a moment he felt his breath taken away. His hands squeezed yours, as he leaned up to capture your lips in a soft but urgent kiss. Parting from you, he rested his forehead against yours, your noses bumping into each other.

“You sure it…doesn’t bother you?” You ask softly.

“It’s you baby. Everything about you.” He replies, “There ain’t a single thing I don’t like about you. Don’t hide yourself from me. Got it?”

You let out a small hum and nodded.

“So…About this presentation Chuck wants ya to do…” He leans back a bit. “What worries you?”

“Making a fool of myself.” You mutter softly, as you felt a heat in your cheeks from admitting it.

“You?” Logan raised a brow. “The only people making themselves out to be fools is the assholes who created the whole…food…thing.” He waved his hand in annoyance. “..and everyone with those damn suits but that’s another story.”

You laughed. “You’d look g-great in that.”

He rolled his eyes. “Focus.” He says in a warning tone, before pausing and winking at you. “Look, if you really don’t want to do it. Don’t. You don’t need to. Beastie will be fine. Just, don’t do it just because you’re worried about others judging you.” He reaches out, brushing some of your hair back. “Guarantee you’re 10 times smarter than all the assholes in Congress anyway. Don’t let others scare you from being yourself, and speaking up for yourself. Got it?” he adjusted himself on his knee. “Whatever you do, wherever you go, I got your back.”

Just when you thought you couldn’t love the man more.

You bit your lip, and nodded. A genuine smile came across his face. He brought your hand up to his lips, kissing the back of it, and then the other.

“So, what are you going to do?” He asks looking up at you with a raised eyebrow.

#logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine x reader #logan howlett fic #vans daydreams #logan howlett fluff #wolverine x you #logan howlett imagine #logan x reader #im a bit nervous for this one

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michaelbluthsdeadwife · 5 months ago

Note

Hi I have a Spencer request🙏 maybe either reader meeting his family or Spencer meeting reader's family and they're all giving them like knowing glances and talking about how cute they are and their family think they're just like the coolest❤️❤️

Seasons Greetings

————————————————————————————————————

Summary: the request BUT in honor of the holiday season I have made it Christmas

Warnings: fem!reader, Christmas?, reader has the perfect family of our dreams so… sorry..😢

Genre: fluffy Christmas :)

Point of view: 2nd person

A/n: I have decided to reappear for the holidays… I’ve missed you guys AH! Finally doing requests like I promised to a month ago…😅 lmk if I should do a part two of the next day? Could be cute idk

————————————————————————————————————

Working at Smosh is great, so is working with your boyfriend, you essentially get to hang out and play games with the person you care for the absolute most.

Being an actor was always your dream, so having a steady acting job that also allows time for auditions on the side is perfect.

However, the one downside of working at smosh with your boyfriend is that your family already has… an idea of Spencer.

Would you say that you’re embarrassed? Absolutely not, you’ve always loved his humor, it was one of your favorite things about Spencer since the moment you met. In fact, it made you fall in love with him.

This isn’t the first impression you had hoped for though, neither you nor Spencer had control over their idea of him thus far due to the fact that you both weren’t even in the room when the first impression occurred.

countless nights you had spent awake at ungodly hours watching every video with you or Spencer from the point of view of your family.

Maybe this was obsessive and absolutely insane, but you couldn’t help it. Spencer had no idea about this, and you had no intention of telling him either.

Now, Spencer was coming to meet your family properly this Christmas, which was so wonderful and exciting yet terrifying and nerve wracking.

Your mother had promised you over the phone that they hadn’t all formed an opinion on him already, but you knew better than that.

Knock, knock.

You make your way towards the door, opening it to a smiling Spencer with takeout in hand. You smile back at him, anxiety seemingly dissipating out of your being at the sight.

Later into the night, you and Spencer were curled up on the couch, eating Chinese food, which is now placed on the coffee table, and watching “Family Guy” (his choice). His hand gently ran up and down against your arm while his head nuzzled against your neck.

“Only two days until Christmas.” Spencer stated, moving to look over at you. He studied your expression, it was hard to tell what you were feeling.

You nod, “I know, are you excited to finally meet my family?” You say this in a joking tone, but a part of you is searching for a real answer.

He adjusts his glasses slightly before speaking, “well, if they’re anything like you, then no.” This lightened your mood, while also getting an eye roll out of you.

Both of your laughs echo through your apartment, you push him off of you playfully. “No- okay, okay. I’m sorry.” He laughs, pulling you back towards him.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Okay, you want my serious answer?”

You nod.

“Yes, I am excited, if not a little frightened to be completely honest.” He admits.

You shake your head, running your fingers gently through his curls. “Spence, you don’t have to be scared. My mom loves everyone and my dad pretty much thinks you’re the funniest guy alive already.”

Spencer tilts his head, “he does?“

“Yeah.”

“Has he, like… watched our videos?” You could tell this freaked Spencer out a little, one could only imagine which insane jokes he was beginning to regret.

You didn’t want to bring it up or say anything, this was supposed to be something you exclusively stressed about. You knew the second Spencer heard this he would start overthinking.

“Hey, I know that look. Stop it. Yes, they all watch the channels. They really do seem to love it, though.” You scoot closer to him, tucking your legs under you so you can face him. “You will see, my brother is just like me, they’re used to the humor.”

He still looks stunned, despite your reassurance. “Yeah, okay.”

You let out a sympathetic laugh, “aw, buddy, I promise it’s gonna go fine.” You pull his head into your chest, rubbing his back to comfort him, the last thing you wanted was for him to get into his own head.

“Why do I have to make so many misogynistic jokes?” He sigh, laughing at his own immaturity.

“They know it isn’t real, it’s very obvious. Besides, we can worry about that in a few days. For now let’s just relax.”

-time skip, Christmas Eve-

You arrived at your parents house in the evening, the chill breeze hitting your cheeks as you stepped out of your car. Your scarf was assisting in keeping your face warm, although it did not quite suffice.

Spencer, ever the gentleman, closed the car door behind you just as he had opened it before to let you out. As you made your way up the door, Spencer’s grip tightened around your hand.

You knock, this is it.

Your mother pulls the both of you in for a tight hug, something Spencer hadn’t expected by the look of his eyes widening.

“Oh, you must be Spencer! It’s so good to see you both!” She holds on for a bit too long, “don’t be shy, come in! Oh, (y/n), I have so much to tell you about your aunt Carol! Her hair is bright purple.” She looked at you like it was the most serious news she’d ever relayed.

You chuckle, looking back at Spencer. “It’s nice to see you too, mom.” You guide Spencer into the warm house.

“Thank you so much for having me, you have a lovely home.” Spencer says with a nervous smile.

“Oh, don’t be so formal! Spencer, why don’t you go into the living room, I need (y/n)’s help in the kitchen.” She begins pulling you away as you shoot your boyfriend an apologetic yet reassuring look.

Spencer was now stranded, he sat on your parent’s couch hesitantly. He didn’t want to see like he was making himself too at home. For a few minutes alone, Spencer pondered his next interactions with your family.

He was interrupted when a large man entered the room, “my boy!” Spencer looked around as to say ‘who, me?’ And once he realized he was the only one in the room he stood. “Well, I assume you’re the famous Spencer Agnew? The one dating my daughter?”

Spencer immediately swallowed, now realizing that he was meeting your father for the first time. “Oh- yes, that’s me. It’s nice to meet you.” He nodded.

Your father approached Spencer, towering over him, as most do. Spencer looked up at the man, he reached out his hand to shake. Spencer immediately reciprocated.

“Nice to meet you too, although I feel like I already have. I’ve seen the videos, you’re a funny kid.” He plops onto the couch, putting his feet up on the ottoman.

“Thank you, that means a lot.” Spencer smiles, gently sitting down on the sofa as well.

An awkward silence.

Spencer searches for something to say, anything. He hates when his mind goes blank during conversation, which never happens when he’s comfortable and with people he knows well, he is not used to this.

“So, the weather-“

“Okay, dinner is ready.”

Saved by the bell, you and your boyfriend sit around the table with your family. Your younger brother now joins you for the meal, steak and potatoes.

“This is really good, mom.” You compliment her before taking a sip of your wine. You ask your brother, “how’s school?”

“Pretty good, Jeremy finally traded me that Pokémon card I wanted.” Before you know it, him and Spencer are engaged in a thrilling conversation, ending in him promising to look at your brother’s card collection after dinner.

You can see in your father’s eyes how much he admires the fact that Spencer is entertaining this, your brother was hard to get along with so when he likes someone it’s meaningful. Not many people are willing to accommodate his special interests and demanding attitude, but Spencer had always been very patient with children… and with you.

“So, you two met through work? That’s how your grandparents met, you know. They always said ‘if you can work together without killing each other, you’re ready for marriage.’ Oh, I can just picture you walking down the aisle in that dress you cut out in that little scrap book of yours. I know, I said I wouldn’t snoop anymore but I can’t help it! Besides, it would look beautiful on you. Speaking of weddings, did you get the invitation for your cousin Linda’s engagement party? Guess who she didn’t invite? Aunt Jane! Oh, I still just have so much to tell you, but I digress. Honey, could you pass me the salt?”

The other four of you at the table exchanged glances for a moment, holding in your laughs. Your mother had always been a rambler, it was nice to get Spencer in on that family inside-joke now.

After dinner, and the Pokémon card museum, you both unloaded your luggage with the help of your father and headed upstairs toward your childhood room.

As you said goodnight to your parents, You felt a weight lift off. It’s over, and it went amazingly.

You and Spencer were alone now, you looked at each other and both sighed. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“No, you’re right,” he brings you in for an embrace, “that went super well. Thanks for bringing me.”

“Of course, Spence. I feel closer to you now that I’ve shown you a big part of my life.” You pull away, placing a soft kiss on his lips.

“Me too, that was fun.” His gaze shifts to the room around you. “It might be hard for the both of us to fit in that twin bed though.”

You grimace, “yeah, I didn’t think about that…”

Spencer makes his way through the room, studying each surface. “What’s this? Ooo, the famous wedding scrapbook!” He smirks at you, giggling to himself.

“Spencer, put that down! I’m serious.”

#fanfiction #spencer agnew x reader #smosh cast #smosh games #spencer agnew #smosh spencer #smosh x reader #x reader #smosh pit #smosh

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sheastri · 10 months ago

Text

Can I Call You Rose? ft. ln4

Pairing: lando norris x fem!black reader

Genre: Social Media AU + Story

Summary: In which the reader grew up in a household where she was never able to express herself properly due to her father. Lando heals her inner child and helps her experience all the things she wasn't able to when she was younger.

Warning(s): None.

A/N: No specific facecast, just the gorgeous black girls of pinterest!!

Also please send requests, whether they're movie based, book based, song based, or even original. Spill your brains and I'll bring the ideas to life the best I can.

Dedicated to all the young girls around the world growing up with immigrant parents who they knew loved them but didn't know how to show it. You will find someone who allows you to express yourself and heals you inside out.

୨୧–------------------------------------------୨୧

Flashback To Y/n's Childhood

13 years ago

Y/n had just turned 10 years old and was excited to celebrate her birthday. Her mother had suggested they all go out and grab dinner at a restaurant of her choice as her birthday treat. They were at home getting ready and just about to leave when her father had said something.

He had insulted her mother and she knew immediately that it would prompt a whole argument so she grabbed the car keys. She made sure to tell her sister, who immediately followed behind her, before she went outside to the car to wait for their parents.

When everyone had gotten in the car it was dead silent. Nobody spoke a word until her father attempted to break the silence with a joke, not an apology, a joke.

Her mother had laughed and went back to speaking to her father like nothing had happened. Y/n and her sister had looked at each other before going back to their phones. Out of nowhere her father begin to go on a rant, well yapping spree, about how this generation was always on their phones and started to talk about how his life growing up in Jamaica was.

Both her and her sister laughed as their mother commented on his very animated story and the atmosphere felt lighter, as though everyone could breathe again. They laughed and conversed until they pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, Olive Garden.

It wasn't giving birthday dinner but Y/n's been craving it for weeks now, the only reason they couldn't go was because of her dad. He didn't like their food and made sure to make it known. He had eaten something before they left so she could hopefully enjoy just eating her food.

They ordered and while they were waiting her dad decided that he needed to complain more. He started with a joke about how she kind of left him to starve and how next time she should be more considerate. Her mother laughed and her sister spoke up about how she didn't like Olive Garden that much either.

Y/n eventually excused herself to the bathroom and went into a stall deciding to just cry. Safe to say her 10th birthday was ruined.

Alexa play "Can I Call You Rose".

୨୧–------------------------------------------୨୧

Current Time

liked by landonorris, whosimani, maxverstappen, and 246,789 others

Tagged: whosimani

y/nsdiary ya'll the view is next level 🤭

view all 13,729 comments

whosimani girlll you so fine, lemme take you out and treat you right.

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username y/n and imani serving as per usual

username ok but what are max and lando doing up in these likes??

username i was js about to say... username i mean y/n's been invited to a race before maybe they're just friends?

username Can I call you Rose? 'Cause you're sweet like a flower in bloom…

liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren, y/nsdiary, and 567,293 others

Tagged: oscarpistri

landonorris the view is just spectacular

y/n'sdiary this man is who i'd be if i never had an original thought in my life

username not her clocking himmm oscarpiastri GAGGED username lando are u js gonna let oscar and y/n eat you up like this??

username whos the girl in the last picture??

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whosimani whos the smoking hot chick in the last photo🫦

landonorris shes all mine ↪ username my heart just broke into a million tiny pieces ↪username nah wdym by this lando??

username Can I call you Rose? 'Cause you're fragrance takes over the room...

୨୧–------------------------------------------୨୧

I Wanna Plant You in my Heart, Oh, So Love Can Grow

Y/n and Imani had bought tickets to attend the Miani Grand Prix since they happened to be in town. Y/n wasn't so much as interested in formula one as Imani was so she was pretty much just tagging along for the ride. It was Thursday and they had come in for what was known as "a pit-lane walk" because Imani had wanted an oppurtunity to talk to some of her favorite drivers. Most notable were Oscar Piastri and Lewis Hamilton. Y/n, personally was a Lando girl. She wasn't a hardcore fan but she tuned in every once in a while and used social media to keep up with everything going on within the formula one community. They were walking around when someone bumped right into y/n knocking the cold matcha out of her hand. It had gotten over her and the opposing force. She looked up, feathers a bit ruffled and was jumpscared, mostly because she expected some rando, with the face of Lando Norris. They were both frozen for a bit before he helped her up. After he had helped her though he stared at her for a long time and she just averted her gaze before accidentally getting caught in his eyes. She let out a soft laugh at the situation before apologizing. Lando's eyes momentarily widened before he quickly began to stutter out apologies. Y/n just laughed at his nervousness before he offered to help her find some clean clothes. Y/n looked at Imani who had given her a thumbs up before giving her that look with her eyebrows raised which made Y/n let out a soft sigh. She took Lando up on the offer and they walked off. Many people looked up at them seeing them both giddy and drenched in Matcha. The upcoming weekend Lando had won and joked with Y/n about having her come and visit again along with a cup of matcha in hand.

Can I Call You Rose? 'Cause Your Thorns Won't Let Blood In Too Soon

It had been almost 2 months since the incident and since then Lando and Y/n had kept in contact. At the moment Lando was trying to convince Y/n to go to the beach and have dinner with him but as more than friends. Y/n had turned the idea down due to being scared of the prospect of a romatic relationship. Eventually due to a bit of convincing from Imani and communicating her feelings to Lando directly she had given him a chance. She had dressed up in a cute pink two piece in which she wore her swimsuit under. She had 2 gold necklaces stacked on top of eachother, one shorter than the other along with some lightly colored bangals. Her makeup was pretty light and she had on strawberry sceneted perfume. She heared the doorbell ring and rushed down with her purse before taking a deep breath and fixing up her hair. She opened the door and was met with a giant boquet of pink flowers. Lando angled the flowers in his arms so that he could make himself visable but also be able to take in her look. If the weight of the flowers hadn't kept him grounded he would've thought he had died, had ascended to the heavens, and had seen an angel. He took her in with all his five senses. His eyes had been blessed, his ears had the pleasure of being able to listen to her soft voice, his hands had the ability to caress and hold hers, his nose was able to take in the scent of strawberry that surrounded her, and his mouth was able to taste wonderful cooking. He never wanted to depart from her. She invited him in and had him place the flowers on the dining table until she came home later to figure out where to place them around her house. He held out his hand for her and led her to his car.

"What a gentleman you are tonight Mr. Norris." Y/n teased with a soft smile on her face.

"Only for you Mrs. Norris." Lando teased back earning him a soft slap from Y/n.

They ate at the restaurant first before going to the Beach soon after. It was late evening but the sun still had yet to set. Y/n wore a swimsuit but didn't plan on going in the water. She had brought a book. It was more out of habit since she was stuck watching her siblings play instead of being able to enjoy the trip. Lando had gotten into his swimsuit and wasted no time jumping in the water before coming out a bit after. He gave her a look with his eyebrow raised and she immediately got up, book long forgotten, and began to run. He chased her for a while, letting her think she was getting away before sneaking up behind her and wrapping his arms around her torso.

"Lando, no. Don't do this to me." Y/n had said dramatically while dying of laughter, already out of breath from all the running.

"Sorry love, it had to be done." Lando says laughing as he now moves one his arms under her legs and runs into the ocean.

After they were both soaked and tired but for Lando the most important thing was that Y/n had fun.

୨୧–------------------------------------------୨୧

Current Time

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Tagged: landonorris

y/nsdiary meet mr. totally in love with me

landonorris and proudly so

y/nsdiary u tryna be the patrick to my kat? ↪ landonorris always baby username well damn, i love this for herrrr username glad to see that shes being treated like a queen

whosimani ya'll are cute ig

y/nsdiary like she didn't tear up when i told her the news

username ouhh i see you girl

username the famed caption stealer

mclaren can't wait to see you guys in the paddock again soon!

y/nsdiary cant wait to be back!!

username I js know he lets her embrace her inner child

whosimani AND DOES!!

username Can I call you Rose? 'Cause your roots have the power to consume...

liked by y/nsdiary, mclaren, oscarpiastri, and 736,927 others

Tagged: y/nsdiary

landonorris Meet Mrs. Norris. The woman of my hours, my days, my years, and hopefully my forever. There is never a day spent in her arms in which I lack love. I thank my God for you every time I think of you and I hope that you know that you are the pinnicale of my existence.

y/nsdiary nah because you have me over here trying not to sob, you couldn't have waited till I wasn't out?

landonorris nope, the world needed to know how deeply rooted in my heart you are ↪ username thats it, im never settling username girl js like me fr, i do not need those people knowing im a crybaby ↪ liked by y/nsdiary

username my girl just looked at me and sighed

username just looked at my bf and sighed

maxvertsappen1 my gf wants to hang out with your wife.

landonorris sorry shes never leaving the house again ↪ y/nsdiary Mr. Norris, dont make me beat you up again. y/nsdiary I WOULD LOVE TOOO

username I love them together so badddd

username I wanna plant you in my heart, oh, so loving grow

୨୧–------------------------------------------୨୧

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amethystarachnid · 1 month ago

Note

Since you told me to write this in the ask box, i think this is it. Bucky x fem reader harry potter AU? Also i didn’t know you were still updating your writing is so incredible. Thanks!

TOURNAMENT

⤷ JAMES B. “BUCKY” BARNES

ᯓ★ Pairing: James B. “Bucky” Barnes x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff, a little angst

ᯓ★ Word count: 9k

ᯓ★ Summary: Bucky Barnes never thought getting picked by the Goblet of Fire would win him more than eternal glory — like, say, a Hufflepuff girl who smells exactly like his favorite love potion.

ᯓ★ TW(s): Bucky loses his arm in the last task of the tournament so injury, limb loss, recovery/rehabilitation, self-worth struggles, light angst, tournament-related danger, mild blood mentions

ᯓ★ guys oh my god, thank you so much for 700 followers!! I love you all so much <33 I want to do something to celebrate, like my usual requests games and stuff like that, but I really dont have any idea, was thinking something like blind trope choosing (want me to elaborate this more?) but Idk if you would like it, so my lovelies if you have any idea don't be shy and suggest it in the comments or in the ask box!! love you xoxo

ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo (requests open)

ᯓ★ Masterlist

ᯓ★ If you are a Charles Xavier fan click on this link!

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language and this isn’t proof read

The Great Hall hums with excitement. Golden plates shine under floating candles, and the enchanted ceiling above reflects the stormy sky outside. You sit with your fellow Hufflepuffs, hands wrapped around a warm mug of pumpkin juice, trying not to glance over at the Gryffindor table again.

But you do. Of course you do.

There he is.

Bucky Barnes, messy dark hair falling into his eyes, robes slightly crooked like he threw them on while running late. He always looks like he just stepped out of trouble, and you’ve heard enough stories to know that’s probably true. He’s laughing at something Steve Rogers said, pushing him lightly with his shoulder. The rest of their little crew—Sam, Nat, and Clint—are there too, all decked in Gryffindor red and gold, shining brighter than the candles above them.

You’ve never really talked to him, not properly. Maybe exchanged a few words during Herbology when Professor Sprout paired your groups together for a cross-house project. But he’s always looked at you like he wants to say more. And maybe you do too.

There’s a buzz running through the entire school tonight. Even the professors are struggling to keep their usual stern expressions. The Goblet of Fire ceremony is about to start. You’ve seen the older students whispering and speculating for days now—who will be chosen, who might enter, who’s foolish enough to think they’ll survive.

Your best friend nudges you from the side. “You think they’ll pick someone from Hufflepuff?” she whispers, eyes gleaming.

You smile, sipping your juice. “We can hope. But you know how it goes.”

She groans, half-laughing. “Don’t say that. We’re not that underrated.”

But your gaze drifts again, instinctively, back to Bucky. And for a fleeting second, he’s already looking your way. You blink. He doesn’t look away.

The Hall goes quiet as Dumbledore steps forward, arms raised in a welcoming gesture. His long silver beard nearly brushes the hem of his robes, and his eyes twinkle as they sweep across the rows of students.

“Welcome, one and all,” he begins, voice warm. “Tonight marks the beginning of the Triwizard Tournament, a tradition that has united magical schools across Europe for centuries.”

You try to focus. Really, you do. But the way Bucky’s jaw tightens when he listens, the way his hand drums lightly against the table—he’s nervous. Or excited. Or both.

The Goblet of Fire sits atop its pedestal now, flickering blue flames dancing from the rim. It looks alive, like it’s waiting, hungering. Students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons watch it with quiet awe. Their uniforms are immaculate, their posture proud. You’ve caught glimpses of them around the castle the past few days—foreign magic practically clinging to them like perfume.

“There will be three champions,” Dumbledore continues. “Each chosen by the Goblet to represent their school in a series of dangerous—yet noble—tasks. A test of courage, intellect, and heart.”

You whisper to your friend, “You think anyone from our year entered?”

She shrugs. “Probably someone from Gryffindor. They’re all obsessed with glory.”

Across the room, Bucky leans forward, lips pressed into a thin line.

He did it. You don’t even need to ask. You can feel it.

One by one, names are called. First, a boy from Durmstrang, tall and broad-shouldered, with a scowl that seems carved into his face. He walks up to the front as his school claps, restrained but proud. He barely nods at the applause.

Then a girl from Beauxbatons, with silver-blonde hair tied in a ribbon, strides forward as though gliding. The entire hall watches her with admiration.

Now it’s time for Hogwarts.

You can hear your heart pounding in your ears.

The flames turn red. Sparks shoot out.

A tiny slip of parchment bursts upward, floating gently into Dumbledore’s hand. He reads it. And then:

“James Buchanan Barnes.”

Silence.

It feels like the whole world holds its breath.

And then the Gryffindor table explodes in noise—cheers, hollers, people pounding the table. Sam whoops the loudest. Steve claps him on the back. Bucky doesn’t move.

You can see it. He’s frozen. His face is a mix of shock and disbelief, like he hadn’t thought the Goblet would actually choose him.

He stands slowly.

Your chest feels tight.

He looks around the hall. His eyes pass over the crowd—past professors, students, even his friends. And then, for the briefest second, they land on you.

It’s not your imagination. He really sees you.

And then he walks.

The applause follows him as he moves toward the front, each step measured, like he’s trying to convince himself this is real.

You realize you haven’t taken a breath.

He disappears behind the door that leads to the champions’ chamber.

Your friend grabs your arm. “Can you believe it?”

You can’t speak.

Because somewhere deep in your chest, something shifts. Not just fear, or nerves, or surprise. Something else.

---

The excitement from the Goblet’s selection doesn’t die down for days.

It weaves itself into every conversation, every whispered exchange in the corridors, every scribbled note passed behind textbooks. Bucky’s name is on everyone’s lips, and you start hearing it so often it begins to sound strange. Detached. Like it doesn’t belong to a real person. But he is—he’s as real as the glance he gave you before walking into the champions’ room.

It’s weird, seeing someone you’ve known from a distance suddenly become a school icon. Not that Bucky wasn’t already well-liked, but this is different. Professors stop him in the hallway. Younger students trail behind him like shadows. Some girls—Ravenclaws mostly—have started smiling extra brightly when he passes.

And then, one evening during dinner, Dumbledore stands again.

You’re mid-bite into a slice of roast pumpkin when the room quiets around him. You set your fork down.

“A moment of your attention, if I may,” he says, smiling with that twinkle in his eye that means something good is coming. “As you know, the Yule Ball is a tradition long associated with the Triwizard Tournament. A chance for celebration, unity, and, dare I say, a bit of mischief.”

Laughter ripples through the hall.

“The ball will take place on the night of the twenty-fifth of December. It is, of course, a formal event. Dress robes will be required, and dancing is encouraged… though not, I assure you, mandatory.”

He pauses as more laughter echoes through the room.

“And as tradition states, each of the champions will open the ball with a dance—accompanied by a partner of their choosing.”

There it is.

The sentence that changes everything.

Immediately, all eyes flick toward the champions. The Durmstrang boy looks unfazed. The Beauxbatons girl tilts her chin higher, already receiving several interested glances. And then there’s Bucky—staring down at his plate like he’s suddenly trying to disappear into it.

You don’t look at him.

You absolutely don’t.

Okay, you do.

Just a little.

Your friend leans in so fast you nearly knock heads. “He’s going to ask someone. Of course he is.”

You swallow hard. “Yeah, probably.”

“Who do you think he’ll pick? Maybe that sixth-year Ravenclaw, the one who keeps complimenting his hair?”

“She compliments everyone’s hair.”

“She’s nice!”

“She’s strategic.”

Your friend eyes you for a second, her gaze narrowing. “Wait a second. Do you want him to ask you?”

“What? No.” You grab your goblet and drink way too fast. “I don’t—why would I even—no.”

“You didn’t say it very convincingly.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m just curious.”

She smirks. “So’s the rest of the school.”

And she’s right. Because the next few days feel like a contest of who can get Bucky’s attention the longest. Girls linger by the Gryffindor table. Even some boys have been working up the courage. It’s not just about who he’ll ask. It’s about being asked.

You try not to think about it.

Which works, right up until Thursday afternoon, when Potions becomes far more eventful than usual.

Professor Slughorn walks in with his usual flair, rubbing his hands together like he’s got a secret he can’t wait to share.

“Today, my dear students, we will be brewing something a little… fragrant.”

You’re already half-bored, jotting the date in your notebook, when he continues.

“Amortentia.”

That gets your attention.

There’s a collective hush.

The love potion.

“The most powerful potion of its kind,” Slughorn says, clearly delighted by the reaction. “It smells different to each of us—according to what attracts us most. A dangerous little brew, to be handled with care.”

You feel heat rise in your cheeks.

“And,” he says, smiling broadly now, “you’ll be working in pairs.”

Here we go.

You sit up straighter, already bracing to be paired with someone tolerable. Slughorn starts assigning names, moving across the room quickly, and you listen with half an ear.

“Miss Coles with Mr. Avery… Miss Greene with Mr. York… ah, Miss Y/L/N with—”

Please not someone awful.

“Mr. Barnes.”

You blink.

“Excuse me?”

“James Barnes,” Slughorn repeats, peering at his parchment. “He’ll need a capable partner, I think. And you’ve always done fine work, Miss Y/L/N.”

You look across the room—and sure enough, Bucky is already standing, slinging his bag over one shoulder as he starts heading your way.

Great. Just great.

You try not to look like you’re panicking.

He drops into the seat beside you, setting his ingredients down with a quiet sigh. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

He glances over at you, eyes calm and a little curious. “Guess we’re partners.”

“Guess so.”

A moment of awkward silence stretches between you.

“Are you good at Potions?” he asks.

You tilt your head. “Are you not?”

He gives you a sheepish grin. “I’m better at stuff that explodes.”

“That’s encouraging.”

He laughs softly, and it’s surprisingly warm. “Don’t worry. I’ll follow your lead. You won’t even know I’m here.”

You raise a brow. “That’s unlikely.”

But it’s not tense. Not weird. Surprisingly, not even awkward. The space between you starts to feel easy, like the sharp edge of formality has melted just a little.

You start gathering the ingredients. “Okay, Amortentia,” you murmur. “Pearl dust, rose thorns, mint leaf, crushed moonstone—”

“You memorize these?”

You shrug. “I like structure.”

He nods. “That makes sense.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “Does that mean I seem like someone who likes structure?”

He grins. “You seem like someone who knows what they’re doing.”

That catches you off guard.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. “What about you? What do you smell in the potion?”

He blinks. “It’s not done yet.”

“Yeah, but just wondering. What do you think you’ll smell?”

He leans back, looking thoughtful. “Maybe leather. And pine. I dunno. Something old, like the Gryffindor common room.”

You nod. “Sounds cozy.”

“What about you?”

You pretend to focus on stirring. “Not sure.”

“Come on. You’ve thought about it.”

“Fine. Freshly baked bread. Books. That smell after it rains.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “That’s… nice.”

You glance up. He’s watching you again.

It’s not a flirty look. Not like the ones people keep throwing at him lately. It’s something softer.

“Did you really put your name in the Goblet?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

He snorts. “Is that what everyone’s saying?”

“Just wondering.”

He exhales, fingers tapping the side of the cauldron. “Yeah. I put my name in.”

You’re surprised. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Felt like I had something to prove, I guess.”

“To who?”

He looks at you. “Myself, mostly.”

That answer lands somewhere deep in your chest.

“You know you don’t have to prove anything,” you say before thinking.

He watches you for a second longer. “Not to everyone.”

The potion bubbles gently. A pale mist curls upward, and a sweet, sharp scent hits your nose.

Bread. Books. Rain.

And something else.

You freeze.

“What is it?” he asks, leaning in.

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

He breathes in, frowning a little. “That’s weird.”

“What?”

“I smell… spearmint. And cinnamon. And…” He hesitates. “Something I can’t place.”

“Maybe it’s a bad sign,” you tease. “Unplaceable mystery.”

“Could be worse,” he says. “Could smell like burnt toast.”

You laugh, more loudly than you mean to, and a few students glance your way. You don’t care.

“You’re not as bad at Potions as you think,” you say, nudging him gently. “This is decent.”

He grins. “It’s because I have an excellent partner.”

“Flattery won’t improve your grade.”

“Worth a shot.”

The rest of the class goes faster than usual. You forget to be tense. You forget that he’s Bucky Barnes, Hogwarts champion and everyone’s favorite Gryffindor. Right now, he’s just a boy with inky smudges on his sleeve and a crooked smile, leaning too close over a cauldron that smells like secrets.

When class ends, you start packing your things, trying not to rush.

“Hey,” he says, voice low, before you can stand.

You look at him. “Yeah?”

“I, uh.” He scratches the back of his neck. “If I haven’t asked anyone to the ball yet, does that make me slow or considerate?”

You blink. “Um… considerate?”

He smiles, half-shy. “Good. Just checking.”

And then he grabs his bag and walks out of the room, leaving you blinking after him with your heart thudding against your ribs like it’s trying to escape.

You sit there for a moment longer, dazed, while the last of the potion simmers quietly behind you.

---

You don’t think about the Amortentia potion after class.

Except… you do. Constantly.

It’s not like you meant to analyze it. It’s just that the scent lingers in your memory, as real as if it followed you out of the dungeon and into your dreams. You remember the smell of fresh bread, yes, and rain. But it was the last note that unsettled you—the one you couldn’t place. Warm and a little woodsy. A little like—

You pause mid-step in the library two days later.

No. No, it can’t be.

You shake your head and keep walking, heart tapping nervously against your ribs.

It’s a coincidence. You’re overthinking it.

Meanwhile, in the Gryffindor common room, Bucky leans back in a worn red armchair and stares at the fire.

He’s been doing that a lot lately.

Sam tosses a throw pillow at his face. “If you sigh one more time, I’m pushing you out a window.”

Bucky shoves the pillow aside. “I’m not sighing.”

“Bro, you’ve sighed like—ten times in the last five minutes. What’s going on?”

Steve looks up from his Charms essay. “Still haven’t asked anyone to the ball?”

Bucky groans and drops his head back dramatically. “It’s not that simple.”

Nat, curled up on the rug nearby, doesn’t even look up from her book. “You’re a champion. You could ask literally anyone and they’d say yes.”

“Yeah, and that’s the problem.”

They all pause.

Clint, from where he’s upside down on the couch, says, “Wait… do you like someone?”

There’s a silence too sharp to ignore.

Then Bucky mumbles, “Maybe.”

Sam leans forward with a gleam in his eye. “Who?”

Bucky doesn’t answer. His mind is full of Amortentia again—mint, cinnamon, that something he couldn’t quite name until two nights ago.

He was walking through the Hufflepuff hallway after hours—definitely not allowed—when he smelled it again. That exact scent. Light, warm, comforting.

You’d passed by him without noticing, tugging your scarf tighter against your neck. And the moment you did, the air shifted.

You smelled like Amortentia.

And that’s when he knew.

Things between you and Bucky don’t change overnight. You still see him in class. Still sit near each other during Potions. You’ve had a few casual conversations in the corridor—one about broomstick charms, another about how bad the new History of Magic sub was at staying awake during his own lectures.

Normal. Easy.

But the awareness is there now. Every time he laughs. Every time he nudges your elbow with his when he makes a joke. Every time his eyes find yours across the Great Hall.

You can’t help but wonder if he knows. If he figured it out too.

Because you figured it out. Eventually.

After one accidental brush of your shoulder against his during a group meeting for Herbology, the scent hit you so clearly it made your head spin.

Leather. Cinnamon. Something calm and steady that you hadn’t recognized in the potion—but now you do.

Bucky.

You’re still processing that when the rumors start to fly.

One by one, the champions start pairing up.

Yelena, the Beauxbatons girl, accepts a date from a quiet Ravenclaw girl. Everyone cheers. The Durmstrang boy—Nikolai, you think—nods solemnly when a Slytherin sixth year asks him. There’s even a rumor he bowed before saying yes.

But Bucky?

Still unclaimed.

Which only makes the speculation worse.

You can’t walk ten feet down a hallway without overhearing something.

“Did you see the way Marla flirted with him?”

“I heard he turned down three people yesterday.”

“He’s just being picky. He wants the perfect partner.”

“Or he’s already asked someone in secret.”

You want to scream.

And part of you thinks: maybe he already knows you’d say no.

That afternoon, Professor McGonagall interrupts Transfiguration with her usual stern efficiency.

“Champions,” she says crisply, “will begin dance rehearsals starting tomorrow evening. As such, partners must be confirmed today. Non-negotiable.”

Bucky groans under his breath, loud enough that a few students near him chuckle.

You try not to look over at him.

You fail.

He’s staring blankly at his parchment like it personally offended him.

After class, you stay behind to ask McGonagall a question about the homework. When you finally walk out into the corridor, it’s mostly empty.

Except for him.

Leaning against the wall. Waiting.

You stop short. “Oh. Hi.”

He stands a little straighter. “Hey.”

You’re about to walk past when he clears his throat.

“I was… wondering. If you’re not already going with someone. And if you wanted to. Maybe—would you be my partner for the Yule Ball?”

It comes out in a rush, all one breath.

You stare at him.

He stares back, bracing for a crash.

And you smile.

“Yeah,” you say, soft and certain. “I’d love to.”

Relief floods his face. He actually lets out a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, thank god. I was starting to think I’d have to ask one of the portraits.”

“They probably wouldn’t have had feet.”

“I know. Disaster.”

You laugh, and something clicks into place between you.

That was the last wall.

Dance rehearsals start the next evening.

Professor McGonagall doesn’t take it easy on anyone.

“I expect grace,” she says, “and not just from the Beauxbatons. This is a formal event, not a barnyard gathering.”

You’re in the Great Hall, all the tables pushed to the sides, the champions and their partners lined up in pairs.

You and Bucky take your spot, your fingers sliding into his easily.

He blinks. “Wow. You’re warm.”

You smirk. “And you’re late.”

“You’ve been waiting to say that, haven’t you?”

“Maybe.”

He squeezes your hand, gentle. “Alright. Don’t laugh if I step on your toes.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

“Okay, maybe.”

But he doesn’t.

He moves with surprising fluidity, each step catching rhythm easily. You match him without thinking. One, two, turn, step, slide. Again. Again.

Professor McGonagall claps once. “That’s it. Keep going.”

Bucky leans in slightly. “So… you’re good at this.”

You shrug. “I like it.”

“Learned it here?”

“Some.” You glance around to make sure no one’s listening. Then you lower your voice. “I’m a half-blood.”

He tilts his head. “Yeah?”

“My mum’s a witch. Dad’s a Muggle. When I’m not at Hogwarts, I take dance classes in the mortal world. It’s our thing.”

Bucky stares at you for a second, then smiles. “That’s… honestly kind of adorable.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Adorable?”

“In a cool way.”

You spin without breaking stride. “Right.”

He laughs. “I’m serious. I think it’s cool. I never got to do anything like that growing up.”

You glance at him. “Didn’t your family…?”

He shakes his head. “No family. Grew up in the system until I got my letter. Hogwarts was the first real place I belonged.”

Something in your chest aches a little. “I’m glad you found it.”

He looks at you, something soft in his eyes. “Me too.”

You finish the dance and fall still, hands still clasped.

You’re close. Closer than you meant to be. You could count his eyelashes if you wanted.

But you don’t move.

Neither does he.

“Again,” McGonagall calls, and the spell breaks.

You start moving again, but everything feels different now. Lighter. Easier.

There’s a heat in your cheeks you know has nothing to do with the room.

The rehearsals continue every evening.

You fall into a rhythm.

Dance, laugh, tease, spin.

Every night, Bucky walks you partway back to the Hufflepuff dorms, hands stuffed in his pockets, head tilted toward yours.

You talk about everything. Music. Spells. The time he accidentally set a broom on fire in third year. The way you once got stuck in a trick stair for an hour and had to bribe Peeves with candy to get out.

And through it all, there’s a thread between you—light but strong.

You don’t tug on it.

Not yet.

But it’s there.

Waiting.

---

The morning of the first task breaks colder than expected.

Gray clouds roll low across the sky, and frost clings to the grass even though the sun is struggling to rise. You wake earlier than you mean to. Your stomach is a knot, twisted and tight, even though you’re not the one about to fight Merlin-knows-what in front of the entire school.

Still, you feel it. The tension, the nerves, the anxious flutter that hasn’t left you since Dumbledore reminded everyone two nights ago that the first task was “not intended to be lethal… but do take care, champions.”

You glance at your window.

You wonder if he’s awake.

You don’t see him at breakfast, and the knot in your stomach only tightens. Even your usual plate of toast and jam sits mostly untouched as the Great Hall buzzes with energy. Everyone's talking about the task—what it could be, how dangerous it might get, who they think will win. The Durmstrang champion is already a favorite, all fire and muscle and practiced scowls.

No one really knows what Bucky’s capable of.

Except maybe you.

“He’s probably nervous,” your friend says between bites. “You’d think they’d at least tell them what they’re facing. It’s practically cruelty.”

You nod absently, eyes scanning the Gryffindor table.

No sign of him.

He’s probably being briefed right now. Or maybe he’s pacing somewhere, doing that thing where he runs a hand through his hair like it’s the only way to stay grounded.

You’ve seen him do that.

You’ve memorized it without meaning to.

You leave early, barely touching your food. Your boots crunch over frost as you join the rest of the school making their way down to the viewing stands. A massive enclosure has been built overnight on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, tall and lined with magically reinforced barriers. There are flags fluttering in the cold breeze—red and gold, blue and silver, black and yellow, green and silver—all arranged in rows across the stands.

You sit near the middle with your year, but your eyes don’t leave the entrance arch where the champions are supposed to emerge.

Every few seconds, you rub your hands together. Not because of the cold. Because your palms won’t stop sweating.

Dumbledore’s voice rises through a spell-enhanced charm, echoing across the enclosure.

“Welcome, everyone, to the first task of the Triwizard Tournament! Our champions have been told only one thing in advance: they must retrieve a golden egg placed at the center of the arena. How they do so is up to them.”

You lean forward.

The wind shifts.

A low, terrible growl rumbles from somewhere behind the stands.

You barely register it, already too focused on the shape stepping out into the arena.

Bucky.

He looks taller than usual in his champion robes—deep red, with gold stitching along the collar. His hair is half-tied back, his wand held loosely in his right hand. He walks with that slow, careful confidence he always has, like he’s calculating everything around him in quiet increments.

You grip the edge of the railing in front of you.

And then the dragon arrives.

You don’t breathe.

It’s a Hungarian Horntail, smaller than some, but still towering. Black scales, horns like jagged spears, wings that unfold like the gates of hell.

Bucky stops.

He looks up.

Then he moves.

There’s no hesitation in the way he sprints for the boulder beside him, throwing up a shield charm just as fire blazes across the space where he stood. The crowd gasps. You choke on yours.

But he’s okay. You can see him, crouched low behind the stone, wand raised.

He’s fast. Not flashy, but precise. Every spell is clean. A gust of wind knocks the dragon’s fire off-course. A blinding flash dazzles it temporarily. He throws up a decoy with some clever illusion charm, forcing the Horntail to turn while he bolts in the opposite direction.

Your hands ache from how tightly you’re clenching them.

He gets closer. Dodges another jet of flame. Leaps across a break in the rocks.

You almost scream when the dragon’s tail swings and clips his side, but he rolls with the impact and comes up running.

And then—somehow—he’s got the egg.

A loud, ringing chime signals the task’s completion.

You barely notice the way the crowd erupts. You don’t care about the thunderous applause or the cheering students.

All you see is Bucky, breathing hard, arm bleeding lightly, but grinning as he clutches the egg to his chest.

He did it.

You stay in your seat long after the other students begin filing out, chattering excitedly. You tell your friends to go ahead without you, pretending you’re just catching your breath.

But really, you’re stalling.

You want to see him. You need to. But your legs won’t move.

Because what would you even say?

That you were scared for him? That your heart’s been doing somersaults since the moment he stepped into the arena?

It’s stupid. You’re not his girlfriend. You’re barely his friend. You’re just a girl who smells like bread and rain and stood too close to him in Potions once.

But when you see him later—alone, slipping through a side corridor near the medical wing—you don’t think.

You just run.

He turns at the sound of your steps, and before you can second-guess yourself, your arms are around his middle, tight, grounding, a little desperate.

He stiffens in surprise—but only for a second.

Then he melts.

His arms wrap around you, firm and warm and slightly trembling. “Hey,” he says, voice low and tired. “I’m okay.”

You press your forehead against his chest, eyes shut. “You could’ve died.”

He exhales a soft laugh. “Would’ve made the rest of the tournament easier, huh?”

You swat at his shoulder, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “Don’t joke.”

He winces. “Sorry.”

Your hands move on instinct—reaching for his arms, checking for bruises, brushing the hem of his sleeve up where the tail hit him. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.”

His voice softens. “You were worried?”

You look at him, really look at him, and nod. “Of course I was.”

He’s quiet for a moment, eyes flicking between yours.

Then he smiles—small, shy, and entirely too soft for someone who just faced a dragon.

“No one’s ever hugged me like that before,” he says.

You blink. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “I dunno. Like you were gonna knock me over if I didn’t hold on.”

You feel your cheeks heat. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” His hand grazes your wrist. “I liked it.”

Silence stretches between you again.

You realize you haven’t stepped back.

He hasn’t either.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” you whisper.

“I’ll be fine,” he says. “I’ve got good reasons to come back.”

Your eyes narrow. “Like what?”

He hesitates.

Then smiles again, even softer. “Like you.”

You don’t say anything.

You don’t need to.

Your fingers are still brushing over the scrape on his arm. He doesn’t stop you. You’re close enough now to smell the lingering smoke in his robes, but beneath it—there’s that other scent.

Warmth. Mint. Bucky.

You want to kiss him.

You don’t.

But you do stay there for a long time, tracing the lines of someone who made it back in one piece, holding him just a little longer than necessary.

Just in case the next time… he doesn’t.

---

You’ve been ready for ten minutes, but you still can’t bring yourself to leave the dormitory.

The mirror in front of you is fogged a little from all the enchanted hair charms buzzing through the room. Around you, other girls adjust their gowns, re-clip earrings, reapply gloss with nervous hands. Everyone is excited.

You are too.

But also—your stomach is full of butterflies.

Not nerves. Not really.

More like… anticipation.

You smooth your hands down the front of your dress. The fabric is soft and warm against your palms—light golden, like candlelight, with threads of silver that shimmer faintly when you move. Not showy. Not loud.

Just enough to feel beautiful.

You take one last breath and step away from the mirror.

The Great Hall has never looked like this before.

Every wall glows with floating icicles, glittering in soft blue light. The ceiling is enchanted to reflect a snowfall that never touches the ground. Round tables replace the usual house benches, and in the center of the floor, an open space waits beneath a chandelier that pulses like a heartbeat.

You step into the entryway and scan the crowd. Most students are already inside. The champions are gathering at the front for the opening ceremony. You can see Yelena laughing at something Nikolai said. Both of them look entirely comfortable, even in their formal robes.

And then there’s Bucky.

You spot him near the front, standing just outside the ballroom with his back to the wall, one hand loosely tugging at the collar of his jacket.

He looks up.

Sees you.

And freezes.

It’s not dramatic—not a gasp or a wide-eyed cartoon stare—but it’s real. His posture changes. His shoulders drop slightly, his fingers stop moving, and his mouth parts like he might say something.

Then he doesn’t.

He just stares.

You walk over.

“Hey,” you say.

He blinks. “Hi.”

His voice is rough.

You smile nervously. “You clean up well.”

His eyes move over your dress again before they meet yours. “You look…”

He stops, swallows, and tries again.

“You look perfect.”

Your heart flutters. “Thanks.”

He fumbles with the sleeve of his robe. “I didn’t know if you’d go for gold or like, the classic soft pink or something. But this—this is exactly you.”

You blink. “You were trying to guess what I’d wear?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Yeah.”

You laugh under your breath. “And did you guess right?”

“No,” he says honestly. “But I wish I had.”

McGonagall calls for the champions and their partners. The opening dance is moments away.

Bucky offers you his hand.

You take it.

The floor is colder than expected under your shoes, but his palm is warm in yours, steady as you move into position. The music begins, soft and lilting.

You step together.

You’ve danced with him before, but this feels different.

There’s an audience now. Magic in the air. You can feel the pressure in the silence around you, broken only by music and the rhythmic sound of your shoes on stone.

But Bucky doesn’t seem to care about any of that.

He’s focused on you.

Every step is smooth, every turn easy, as if you’ve been dancing together forever.

He leans close.

“You nervous?” he murmurs.

“A little,” you admit.

He smiles. “You don’t look it.”

The corners of your mouth lift.

You glance around the room and catch more than a few eyes watching you both. You’re not used to that kind of attention. Not like he is.

But you don’t feel uncomfortable.

Not with him.

You glide through the final turn and end the dance in perfect sync, breathless from movement and something else entirely.

When the applause begins, you drop your hands and step back.

But Bucky doesn’t move far.

His fingers graze yours once before falling away.

“You’re good at this,” he says softly.

“So are you.”

“Must be the partner.”

You smile, cheeks warm.

The rest of the night unfolds in slow, shimmering moments.

Dinner is served in waves of golden plates and charmed goblets. You sit beside him, and every so often, your knees bump under the table. Neither of you moves away. Conversation drifts around you, but it feels like a bubble, just the two of you inside it.

He leans in to make a joke about Steve’s terrible attempt at dancing with Nat. You tease him for nearly tripping during the opening spin. He laughs.

You forget about the frost outside.

Eventually, the music swells again, and students flood the dance floor. Bucky glances at you with an unspoken question.

You nod.

He offers you his hand again.

You spend hours moving across the floor. Sometimes slow, sometimes fast. Sometimes you both mess up and laugh and stumble and don’t care who’s watching.

It’s the easiest thing in the world.

At some point, the crowd thins.

People begin slipping out toward the gardens, toward quiet corridors, toward little pockets of privacy.

You don’t even think about it before you follow the shift.

You and Bucky step out into the courtyard, where snow crunches gently underfoot and the moonlight paints everything silver.

The air is cold, but your body feels too warm to notice.

Bucky’s coat is loose around his shoulders now, hands stuffed in his pockets. You walk beside him in silence for a minute.

“I thought I’d be more nervous tonight,” he says eventually.

You glance at him. “You weren’t?”

He shakes his head. “Not after I saw you.”

You pretend to focus on the garden lights flickering between snow-covered hedges.

He stops walking.

You turn.

There’s that look again—the one he gave you before the task. The one that says he’s trying not to overstep but also can’t look away from you.

Your breath clouds between you.

“I’m glad I asked you,” he says.

“I’m glad you did too.”

You both hesitate.

It’s so quiet out here. Even the music sounds distant now, a faint echo behind the frost.

You take a half-step closer, like your feet decided before your head caught up.

Bucky mirrors it.

You speak before you lose the nerve. “That night after the first task…”

He nods. “Yeah.”

You exhale. “I meant what I said. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I won’t.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“No,” he agrees. “But I can promise I’ll try to come back to you.”

The words settle in your chest.

He swallows. “I don’t know what this is. I don’t wanna mess it up.”

“You’re not,” you whisper.

His eyes flick to your lips.

Yours do the same.

Neither of you leans in.

You just drift.

And then—

It happens.

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe both of you. Maybe neither. It’s not planned, it’s not dramatic, and it’s not even a proper kiss at first.

Just a brush.

A quiet collision of mouths.

A surprised inhale.

Then another press—this one fuller, warmer, more real.

He kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. You kiss him like you’re not entirely sure this is happening, but you don’t want it to stop.

When you part, barely, your foreheads rest together.

Bucky breathes out a soft laugh.

You smile against his cheek. “That was…”

“Accidental,” he finishes.

“Yeah,” you say.

Neither of you moves away.

Neither of you wants to.

“Do you think we’ll ‘accidentally’ do it again?” he asks.

You grin. “Definitely.”

And when he kisses you again, it’s not an accident at all.

---

The weeks following the Yule Ball are a whirlwind of stolen moments and whispered conversations.

You and Bucky never officially define whatever it is that's blossomed between you, but neither of you seems to mind. There's an unspoken understanding: with the tournament's dangers looming, labeling your relationship feels both unnecessary and daunting. Instead, you focus on the present, cherishing each interaction as if it might be your last.

Between classes, Bucky finds ways to be near you. Despite being in different houses, he manages to intercept you in the corridors, always with that signature smirk playing on his lips.

One afternoon, as you're heading to the library, he appears beside you, matching your stride. "Fancy meeting you here," he teases.

You roll your eyes but can't suppress the smile tugging at your lips. "It's almost like you're stalking me, Barnes."

He feigns innocence. "Me? Never. Just happened to be going this way."

You both know it's a lie, but neither of you cares.

As the days pass, these encounters become more frequent. He'll brush his fingers against yours when no one's looking, or tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear during study sessions. Each touch sends shivers down your spine, leaving you yearning for more.

One evening, he surprises you with an impromptu "date." After dinner, he pulls you aside, eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Come with me," he whispers, leading you through the castle's winding corridors.

You follow without question, curiosity piqued. Eventually, you arrive at the Astronomy Tower. The view is breathtaking: the vast expanse of the night sky dotted with stars, the Forbidden Forest stretching out below.

Bucky spreads out a blanket he'd apparently stashed there earlier and gestures for you to sit. Producing a small basket, he reveals an assortment of pastries and a flask of hot cocoa.

"Thought we could use a break from all the madness," he says softly.

Your heart swells. "This is perfect. Thank you."

You spend hours talking about everything and nothing, wrapped in each other's warmth against the chilly night air. It's moments like these that make you forget the looming dangers of the tournament.

But reality has a way of intruding.

The Second Task approaches faster than either of you would like. The night before, you find yourselves in the library, poring over books in search of any clue about what Bucky might face.

"I'm worried," you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

He reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. "I'll be okay. I have to be."

You nod, but the knot in your stomach remains.

The morning of the task dawns cold and gray. The Black Lake is shrouded in mist, its surface eerily still. Students gather along the shore, anticipation and anxiety palpable in the air.

You stand with your friends, eyes never leaving Bucky as he prepares to dive into the unknown depths. He catches your gaze and offers a reassuring smile, but you see the tension in his posture.

A whistle blows, signaling the start. The champions plunge into the lake, disappearing beneath its dark surface.

Time seems to stretch endlessly. You watch the clock, each tick amplifying your anxiety. Minutes pass. Then half an hour. Then forty-five minutes.

The first champion emerges, gasping for air and clutching their "treasure." Then the second. But there's no sign of Bucky.

Your nails dig into your palms, heart pounding painfully against your ribs.

Finally, just as the hour mark approaches, there's a disturbance in the water. Bucky breaks the surface, dragging himself onto the shore. He's visibly shaken, clothes torn, a gash bleeding freely on his forehead.

Relief floods you, but it's short-lived as you take in his condition.

He stumbles slightly, and without thinking, you rush to his side, heedless of the spectators.

"Bucky!" Your voice trembles with emotion.

He looks up, surprise flickering in his eyes before being replaced by exhaustion. "Hey," he murmurs, attempting a weak smile.

You don't hesitate, wrapping your arms around him, holding him as if to anchor him to reality.

"You're okay," you whisper, more to convince yourself than anything.

He leans into you, drawing strength from your presence. "Barely."

Pulling back slightly, you cup his face, thumb brushing over the cut on his forehead. "What happened?"

His eyes darken with the memory. "Grindylows. Swarmed me as I was trying to get back. Thought I was done for."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "But you fought them off."

He nods. "Had to. Couldn't break my promise to you."

Emotion chokes you, and you press a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Don't scare me like that again."

He chuckles softly, wincing at the movement. "I'll try."

The medics arrive, ushering him away for treatment. You reluctantly let him go, but not before squeezing his hand one last time.

As he walks away, he glances back over his shoulder. "Meet me later?"

You nod, a small smile breaking through the tears. "Always."

The tournament continues to test both of you, but in these moments, you find solace in each other, holding on to the hope that when it's all over, you'll finally have the chance to define what you mean to one another.

---

That night, after the second task, you don’t sleep.

You sit in the Hufflepuff common room, curled up in the corner of one of the armchairs closest to the fire, your legs tucked beneath you, your thoughts nowhere near still. The embers crackle softly, shadows dancing along the walls, but the only image that stays in your mind is Bucky—shivering, bloodied, soaked, and still managing to smile at you.

You keep replaying the way he looked when he stumbled out of the lake. How pale he was. How he leaned on you a little too heavily when you rushed to him. How his voice shook, even though he tried to make it sound light. He was scared. You saw it in his eyes.

And so were you.

It's well past curfew when the knock comes on the window. Soft, almost hesitant.

You blink, sit up, and glance around the dim room. Everyone else is asleep or in their dorms. You rise quietly and open the window just a crack.

Bucky stands outside, still damp, hair mussed and a hoodie slung over his shoulders. There’s a healing charm wrapped around his wrist, barely visible under the sleeve. His eyes are tired.

You open the window wider and let him climb through.

“Hi,” he says, voice low.

You don’t answer at first. You just look at him. Then you walk straight into his chest and wrap your arms around him tightly.

He holds you back with equal strength, pressing his face into your hair, breathing you in like he hasn’t had a moment to feel safe since before the task.

“I’m okay,” he murmurs. “Promise.”

“You almost weren’t.”

“I know.”

You hold on for a while longer.

Eventually, he shifts, and you both sink onto the big sofa by the fire. He stretches out, and you curl against his side, your head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around you. Your fingers play absently with the edge of his hoodie.

You lie like that for a long time.

Not talking. Just breathing.

“I thought I lost you,” you whisper at some point.

He turns his head, his lips brushing the top of your hair. “I told you I’d come back.”

You nod against his chest, eyes burning. “Don’t ever make me watch something like that again.”

He doesn’t promise this time.

He just holds you closer.

Days pass, and for a little while, things are soft again. Bucky rests, heals, smiles when you sneak him snacks from the kitchens and draw little stars on the corners of his parchment during study sessions. He steals kisses behind the library shelves and holds your hand under tables when no one’s looking.

Neither of you talk about what you are. It doesn’t feel necessary. The connection is there. Unspoken but steady.

Still, there’s a weight in the air. The Third Task looms.

It’s different this time. You can feel it in the tension around the castle, the worried glances exchanged in the hallways. The hedge maze constructed on the Quidditch pitch casts long shadows that stretch toward the castle like dark fingers.

Bucky doesn’t tell you much about what he’s expecting—he can’t. But the look in his eyes when he talks about it says enough.

You walk him down to the edge of the maze on the day of the task. The stands are packed, voices buzzing in the wind, banners waving, but none of it touches you.

He stops before stepping past the line and turns to face you.

His hand finds yours.

“I have to win this,” he says, and there’s something quiet and desperate in the way he says it.

You squeeze his fingers. “I know.”

“But I also have to survive it. For you.”

Your throat tightens. You nod, words caught behind the emotion.

He hesitates, then leans in. His lips press gently to your forehead.

“When this is over,” he murmurs, “we’ll talk about everything. No more waiting.”

“Okay,” you breathe.

Then he turns and walks into the maze.

Time slows again. The maze is a living thing, shifting, closing behind each champion as they move deeper inside. From the stands, you can see flickers of light, hear the occasional bang of spells or a scream muffled by distance. Your heart hammers with every sound.

And then silence.

Long, suffocating silence.

You don’t know how long it lasts—maybe an hour, maybe more—but then a horn sounds.

You rush to the front of the stands as people stand, gasping, craning to see.

A figure stumbles out of the edge of the maze, dragging something behind him.

It’s Bucky.

But something’s wrong.

He collapses to his knees just past the finish line, panting, blood pouring from his shoulder. The prize is clutched in his free hand—a glowing relic, pulsing with faint magic—but his left arm is gone.

You don’t realize you’re screaming his name until people start moving.

Madam Pomfrey is already running, others shouting orders, and you fight your way through the crowd, uncaring who’s in the way. You reach him just as he’s lowered to a stretcher.

His face is pale. There’s blood everywhere. His eyes meet yours.

“Y/N,” he rasps, voice raw.

“I’m here,” you say, grabbing his hand, your own shaking. “I’m here.”

He smiles faintly. “Told you I’d win.”

And then his eyes flutter shut.

The next few hours are a blur.

They take him to the hospital wing, lock it down for privacy and security. You don’t leave the corridor outside. Not when Steve tries to make you eat, not when Nat quietly offers you a blanket, not even when professors walk by whispering updates.

You just sit there, your knees to your chest, waiting for any news at all.

Finally, hours later, someone opens the door.

“He’s awake.”

You rush inside.

Bucky lies on the bed, propped up slightly. He looks tired. There’s a scar along his jaw now. His left side is bandaged, the arm gone from the shoulder down.

But he’s alive.

You sit beside him without a word and take his hand.

He doesn’t speak for a while.

When he does, his voice is hollow. “They couldn’t save it.”

“I know.”

“They say they can make me a replacement. Metal. Like the ones used for enchanted prosthetics.”

You nod.

He doesn’t look at you. “What if I hate it?”

“Then I’ll help you until you don’t.”

His eyes finally meet yours. There’s so much pain there it’s hard to look at.

“I don’t want you to see me differently.”

You don’t flinch.

“I don’t,” you say. “Not even a little.”

His throat bobs.

You lean in and press your forehead to his.

“I love you,” you whisper.

It slips out before you can stop it, but you don’t take it back.

He breathes in sharply, like he’s not sure he heard you right.

Then he says, voice cracking, “I love you too.”

And you don’t let go of him for the rest of the night.

---

The metal arm doesn’t come immediately.

It takes weeks.

Weeks of healing, of fittings, of enchantments. Weeks of pain, both physical and emotional. You’re there for all of it.

At first, Bucky barely talks. He’s withdrawn, silent through most of the hospital stay. Even when the others come to visit—Steve, Sam, Nat—he gives them a tired smile and little else. When they finally release him and he returns to the Gryffindor tower, he doesn’t go to the common room. He hides in his dorm. From them. From you.

But not for long.

Because you refuse to let him push you away.

You knock on the door to his dorm one evening, long after curfew. When he doesn’t answer, you let yourself in anyway. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, his left shoulder bandaged, shirt discarded, back hunched over as he stares at the floor. The firelight makes his skin look pale, shadows flickering over the edges of the deep scar where his arm used to be.

You close the door softly behind you and walk to him.

He doesn’t look up. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I don’t care.”

A silence stretches between you.

He finally speaks. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“I’ve already seen you like this.”

He still doesn’t look up. “It’s different now. The tournament’s over. You don’t have to… stick around.”

You cross the room and kneel in front of him.

He doesn’t move.

You gently reach up and cup his cheek. “You think I only stayed because of the tournament?”

He swallows, throat tight.

You shift closer. “You told me you loved me.”

“I do.”

“Then stop trying to push me away.”

It breaks something in him. His shoulders shake, and his hand grips your arm like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

“I hate it,” he admits, voice raw. “I hate what I look like. I hate what it feels like to wake up and not feel anything on that side. I hate that I can't even brush my teeth with my dominant hand. I hate that I won, and this is what I get.”

You pull him into your arms, holding him as tightly as he’ll let you. “You’re allowed to hate it. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

He breathes into your shoulder, body trembling.

“I’m scared,” he whispers.

You squeeze him tighter. “Me too.”

That night, he doesn’t let go of you once.

The first time he sees the metal arm, he flinches.

It’s late afternoon, a week after he’s fitted with it in the infirmary. You’re with him, of course, sitting by his side while Madam Pomfrey checks the magical circuitry, the tiny runes etched into the metal.

It’s beautiful, in a way—sleek and matte black with silver accents, enchanted to respond like a real limb. But it’s heavy. Cold. Unfamiliar.

When they attach it, the magic latches onto the nerves that remain in his shoulder. There’s a pulse of heat, a flash of golden light. The fingers twitch slightly.

Bucky stares at it.

And says nothing.

You can tell he wants to say something. Maybe scream. Maybe cry. But he doesn’t. He just watches as the fingers curl into a fist and then release.

That night, he doesn’t speak much.

But he lets you hold his hand—the real one—while his other rests stiffly by his side.

He doesn’t wear it in public at first.

He hides it under jackets, under glamours, under long sleeves even when the weather is warm. Some people whisper about it, but no one says anything to his face. No one dares.

Except you.

One afternoon, you find him by the Black Lake, jacket pulled tightly around his shoulders.

You sit beside him on the grass.

He doesn’t look at you.

“Do you know what I see when I look at you?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer.

You take a breath. “I see someone who fought through something terrible. Who came out the other side. Who survived, Bucky. You lived.”

He looks at you finally.

“People talk,” he says. “They stare. They think I’m some kind of freak.”

“Then they’re idiots.”

A pause.

You shift closer, resting your head against his shoulder.

“I love you. Not in spite of this. Not because of it. I just love you. All of you.”

He doesn’t say anything.

But he leans into you, just a little.

And you know that’s enough for now.

By the end of the month, people know.

They know you’re his girlfriend.

It wasn’t exactly announced—neither of you are the type. But he starts walking you to class. He holds your hand openly. He lets you kiss his cheek in the corridor after Transfiguration and doesn’t flinch when others see.

And then one day, Bucky appears in the Great Hall for breakfast, sleeves rolled up, the metal arm on full display. The rune lines shimmer faintly in the candlelight, and his expression is calm, defiant even, as he sits down beside you.

You don’t say anything.

But your hand finds his under the table.

That’s the moment it becomes real to everyone else.

And they talk. Of course they do.

You catch the looks. You hear the whispers. The way girls glance at you with mixed envy and awe, as though they can’t believe you—a quiet Hufflepuff who prefers books to drama—are the one holding hands with Bucky Barnes, Triwizard Champion, scarred and stunning and suddenly so real.

But it doesn’t matter.

Because he’s yours. And he’s letting the world see it.

The night of the feast is warm and loud.

Banners hang from the ceiling. The long tables are overflowing with food and drink. Professors are smiling, chatting, raising goblets. Music plays in the background. The sky above the enchanted ceiling is a brilliant, star-speckled navy.

It’s all for him.

A celebration of his victory. Of the pain he endured and the title he earned.

Bucky looks handsome, even if he refuses to wear anything fancier than his best school robes. The arm is still uncovered. He’s not hiding anymore.

When he walks into the Hall, everyone stands.

He blushes.

You squeeze his hand.

People cheer. Some chant his name. He ducks his head in embarrassment and mutters under his breath, “This is stupid.”

You laugh. “Take the praise, Barnes. You’ve earned it.”

They give him a seat at the head table, but he doesn’t sit there long. After the formal part of the feast ends, after McGonagall says something eloquent and moving about resilience and bravery, he sneaks back to you.

He sits beside you at the Hufflepuff table, ignoring the wide eyes and stares from the other students.

“I missed you,” he says quietly, like he hasn’t just been the center of attention for an entire school.

“You saw me an hour ago.”

“Still missed you.”

You lean against him.

He turns his head and kisses your temple.

You don’t miss the way girls watch you. Or the way some of them mutter behind their hands. But you also don’t care.

Because Bucky Barnes, with all his pain and strength and sarcasm and sweetness, is yours.

And you’re his.

The feast ends late, and students slowly trickle back to their dorms. But you and Bucky stay behind, lingering in the corridor outside the Great Hall. The music has faded. The torches are dim.

He leans against the wall, you in front of him, his arms (both of them) wrapped around your waist.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

“For what?”

“For not letting me disappear.”

You smile, resting your forehead against his. “Never.”

He kisses you, soft and slow, and when he pulls back, there’s a light in his eyes you haven’t seen since before the tournament began.

Hope.

63 notes · View notes

violetseaslug · 4 months ago

Note

ur writing is so fire im afraid I must request

perchance fem reader painting se-mi’s nails giggling about how reader can barely paint it on correctly without her hand shaking from laughing at se-mi and her little jokes (yippee just fluff)

(oh no angst) but reader remembers how she used to paint her late sisters nails when they were kids and ends up crying at the memory with semi switching the roles and painting readers nails while comforting them

idc whether you do angst or pure fluff anything u write is fire

now i sit around and rust in rain ⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

tw: grief, whole plot revolves around it, fluff and angst i thiiiink...

a/n: my reqs are open btw!!!! AND AS ALWAYSSS! THANK YOU SOOO super duper much for your request ANDDD your compliments!!! <3 i HOPEEE!!! you enjoy it !!! :P 💗 im rlly locked in w doing all of my requests atm 🤞 and idk what ill do once they're done bc i have no ideas but whatever </3

₊˚⊹⁠♡————— ⁠♡ —————♡⊹⁠˚₊

Painting Se-mi’s nails had proven to be quite the challenge, especially with the endless stream of dad jokes she insisted on making.

No matter how many times you groaned and told her they weren’t funny, or how often you slapped your hand down onto hers to keep her still, she kept going. And despite your best efforts to act unimpressed, you still giggled every time. At this point, you had more nail polish on yourself than on Se-mi.

You wished this night would never end. The warmth of her presence, the easy laughter. it was the kind of moment you wanted to stretch on forever. But unfortunately, your thoughts had other plans.

Grief was never linear, always slipping through the cracks in quiet moments when you least expected it. And just like that, as Se-mi sat there smiling, your mind pulled you back to memories of your late sister. her laughter, the way she used to giggle with you over something silly, the feeling of her hand in yours when she let you paint her nails. The ache in your chest tightened, and before you could stop yourself, tears welled up in your eyes.

Se-mi noticed immediately. Her teasing expression softened as she tilted her head, studying you carefully. And then, without hesitation, she reached out and gently took your hand in hers, her thumb soothingly tracing circles over your knuckles.

"Hey, love," she murmured, her voice gentle, a quiet reassurance. "It's okay to cry. I promise, everything’s going to be okay."

She stood up from her chair and moved beside you, kneeling down so she could look at you properly. One hand rested on your shoulder, grounding you, while the other wiped away the tears slipping down your cheeks.

"I tell you what," she continued, her lips curving into a small, comforting smile. "Let’s swap seats, okay? I’ll paint your nails this time. You just sit back and relax, my love."

You sniffled, hesitating for only a moment before nodding. Standing up, you allowed her to guide you into the chair she had been sitting in, and she took your place, carefully picking up the nail polish brush.

“Relax your hands, baby,” she said softly, bringing your fingers toward her. You did as she asked, trying your best to hold in the sobs still caught in your throat.

As she began painting your nails, she spoke again—softly, delicately, like she was stitching your heart back together with her kind words.

“It’s okay to be sad, and it’s okay to cry. It doesn’t make you any less strong. It’s part of healing, part of grieving, my love.”

She paused for a moment, focusing on carefully coating each nail before continuing.

“And even though it’s hard, I want you to know that I’ll be here with you through all of it. Whatever you need, I’ll be right here, baby. I promise.”

She glanced up at you, her eyes filled with warmth, before gently pointing towards your heart.

“Her love is a part of you. It will always be there, growing with every memory, with every thought you have of her. And she’s not truly gone, you know. She’s right here.”

She smiled softly as she wiped away the stray polish from the sides of your fingers.

“Your love for her keeps her alive. She lives on within you, within your soul. And I think that’s beautiful, just like she was. Don’t you agree, my love?”

You swallowed thickly, your emotions still a mess in your chest, but you managed to whisper a quiet, “Mhm.”

It was barely a word, but in her eyes, she saw everything. the gratitude, the love, the quiet promise that you would hold her words close to your heart and cherish them.

And you knew, without a doubt, that you would never have to go through this alone.

₊˚⊹⁠♡————— ⁠♡ —————♡⊹⁠˚₊

unrelated a/n: this is abt mei, as per usual😇 i love her shes literally my wife

94 notes · View notes

sebscore · 2 years ago

Note

can we have more of leclerc!sister x ollie and the guys in her life reactions??? (idk im talking abt maybe some of the drivers and obs the brothers)

DO NOT POKE A BEAR UNTIL THEIR CLAWS COME OUT

pairings: ollie bearman x leclerc!reader / arthur leclerc x sister!reader / lorenzo leclerc x sister!reader / joris trouche x leclerc!reader / charles leclerc x sister!reader

warnings: swearing. car crash (but no one is hurt). an angry ollie. overall angst.

author's note: this came to me after finding a vid of ollie swearing on radio, cause arthur squeezed him on track. THIS IS SET IN AN IMAGINARY GRAND PRIX !!

masterlist

• • • • • • •

''I don't think that's such a good idea, Y/N.'' Lorenzo muttered, glancing at her through his rear-view mirror.

His sister pouted, despite having expected his answer. ''It's just a one time thing, though! We haven't seen each other in so long and after the race, we won't see each other for like another week. I'm sure Thur will understand.'' She pleaded her case.

Explaining to her two oldest brothers that she wanted to stand in the Prema garage instead of the DAMS garage for the upcoming Grand Prix, wasn't something she had been looking forward to.

''I don't mind you going there, but I think Thur is going to be hurt by it.'' Charles gave his opinion, turning in his seat so he could properly look her in the eyes.

Y/N sighed, feeling conflicted. She knew she didn't necessarily need her family's approval to support Ollie from his team hospitality, but she still wanted it- perhaps to not feel as if she was ''betraying'' Arthur.

''Just talk to Thur, chérie. He's the only one that really matters.'' The eldest advised her.

The young girl nodded to his words. ''Yeah, I'll do that.'' She agreed, understanding that it was important to take Arthur's feelings into consideration.

Charles noticed his baby sister's doubtful expression. ''Hey, if you just explain it to him, he'll understand. Don't worry about it, petite.''

''Absolutely not. That's not happening.'' Arthur shook his head, standing up from the couch and moving to the kitchen.

Y/N followed him there. ''But Thur-''

''No,'' he abruptly turned around, his stern eyes focused on her, ''that's like saying you want me to lose. Ollie's my mate, but no, absolutely not.'' Arthur grabbed a glass from the cupboard.

''It's only for the feature race! I barely see him and I'd just like to be there when he's done. You literally see him more than me.'' She frowned, frustration present in her voice as she watched him grab the soda bottle from the fridge- was he even listening to her?

Arthur sighed loudly, letting his sister's words process in his brain. ''Only the feature race? Not the qualifying or the sprint? You'll only be there on Sunday?''

She quickly nodded her head. ''Yes, only Sunday. The rest of the weekend, I'll be with you.'' Y/N confirmed.

Her brother filled his glass, tilting his head as he thought of an answer. ''Hmmmm…'' He trailed, swirling his drink before his lips, staring at her through squinted eyes.

''Okay.''

Y/N's eyes widened. ''Really? You're okay with it?''

He nodded, a smile slowly appearing on his face. ''Yeah, but if I don't do well on Sunday, I will blame it on you.'' The smile turned into a teasing smirk, pointing his finger at her.

The youngest rolled her eyes, but went in for a hug. ''Thank you, Tutur.'' Arthur put his arm around her, his other one still holding onto his glass.

''Don't make me regret it, eh?'' He raised his left eyebrow.

She shook her head. ''I won't, thank you so much.'' Y/N pulled him closer, practically squeezing her older brother from excitement.

''Okay, that's enough love for today.''

''It's nice to see you before I get in the car.'' Ollie gushed. The couple stood a few metres away from his team and machinery, taking a moment for themselves before the race started.

Y/N smiled at her boyfriend. ''I know, I don't usually see you like this.'' He was nestled in his full racing gear, only his eyes visible through the visor of his helmet.

''You like the view?'' He wiggled his eyebrows, a teasing grin on his face.

The young girl pretended to think. ''I guess so.'' She dragged out her words, trying to sound not entirely convinced.

Ollie lightly tapped her arm. ''Hey! I know you can only see my eyes right now, but still.'' He defended himself, crossing his arms.

''No, no. I really like the view.'' Y/N gave in, her mischievous smirk turning into a genuine smile.

The Brit glanced down at his feet, seemingly blushing under his helmet and balaclava. ''Thank you,'' he told her in a small voice, having grown shy at the compliment, ''I would give you a hug, but we're still doing that private relationship thing so how about a fist bump?''

She cackled at the suggestion, but stuck out her fist, bumping it with his. ''The way you said that made me laugh.''

''Yeah? That's nice.'' He laughed to himself, happy he got a giggle out of her. ''Anyway- I have to get in the car now so I'll see you right after?'' An expecting look in his eyes.

''I'll be here,'' she smiled, ''be careful, alright? I know you'll do well, but I still want you to walk out of the car without a scratch.'' Y/N had a small gut feeling, it was probably nerves, but she couldn't shake it off.

''I will, darling.'' He assured her with a nod.

''Okay, good luck.'' She bid him goodbye, sending him off to his team while she made her way inside the Prema garage, standing next to Ollie's father.

David took a glance at the young girl. ''You always look this nervous, Y/N?'' He chuckled.

She tensely laughed. ''I used to worry about one guy, now I have to worry about two.'' Y/N explained her stress to him.

''I get that, but it's gonna be fine- don't worry that smart head of yours.'' David tried comforting her. He figured her anxiety was more bad than usual as she wasn't by her brothers' sides.

''I'll try.''

The race was going fine, the youngest Leclerc's nerves calming down as both her guys had clean starts and were battling in the Top 5. It wasn't until Croft's commentary that she realised her gut feeling had been correct.

''COLLUSION BETWEEN BEARMAN AND LECLERC! BOTH CARS OUT OF THE RACE!''

The crash wasn't big, but both cars ended up in the wall with some force. Arthur went along the inside of Ollie's car, but got squeezed by the Pourchaire and the former teammates made contact.

The entire Prema garage watched the screen with wide eyes, surprised by the sudden turn of events as they waited for a sign that both drivers were okay.

Oliver gave a quick ''I'm ok.'' through the radio, relief visibly going through everyone listening. The Brit was the first one to get out of their car, not sparing the Monégasque a glance as he walked away with one of the marshals.

Arthur followed swiftly, Y/N letting out a deep breath as her brother seemed physically alright from the crash.

The youngest Leclerc sibling noticed the wary eyes on her while she glanced around the garage. She could feel her head heating up due to embarrassment for the situation, hoping the Italian team wasn't cursing her out in their heads.

About 10 agonising minutes later, Ollie walked into the garage. David left their spot, while she stayed there- unsure of what the right thing to do was at that moment.

The young man was first approached by Anthoine who patted his back and whispered some inaudible words into his ear, most likely sweet comforts to calm him down.

As soon as the helmet and balaclava came off, it was obvious how angry he was with the situation. His usual smile traded for a tightlipped frown and a furious red colouring his cheeks.

Ollie merely nodded at his engineer and anyone who attempted to try to make him feel better about the unfortunate end to his race. His father gave him a hug, but David wasn't met with the infamous resting head on his shoulder.

The Brit pulled away and tilted his head towards the driver's room. ''I'm just gonna be in there for a while.'' He shook hands with some of the mechanics and made a run for it, leaving to be his own.

Jamie glanced at her, seeing the visible concern on the young girl's face. He signalled for her to talk to him, tilting his head at the garage exit.

Y/N hesitated, doubting the comfort she could bring to her boyfriend at that moment. However, Gigi gave her a soft push. ''You're the only person he's not going to ignore.'' He told her, confident in his words.

She nodded her head and took off her headset, carefully putting it back where she had gotten it from. Y/N smiled weakly at the Prema crew, almost feeling ashamed as it was partly her brother's fault that they would have to work even harder and longer tonight.

The Monégasque knocked two times on the door, opening it without hearing an answer. Ollie stood against the table, his racing suit hanging around his waist. The indifferent expression on his face worried her, not used to it.

''Are you okay? You're not hurt, right?'' She walked up to him, taking slow steps.

The youngest Leclerc put her hand on his back, relieved he didn't shrug her off like he had done with everyone else.

''I'm fine, probably just gonna be sore in the morning.'' Ollie mumbled, brushing his hand through his hair. The lack of eye contact not doing anything to ease her worries.

Y/N nodded. ''So… what happened there?'' She wanted to hear his side of the incident, already planning to ask Arthur the same thing later.

Ollie scoffed at the question. ''Your fucking brother obviously wanted to kill me with his car and just slammed us both into the walls.'' He exclaimed, getting worked up again.

His answer stunned her, simply staring at him with a frown on her face.

''Like what the fuck did I do? Is it cause I'm your boyfriend and he wants to pull that overprotective brother agenda? It's stupid, everything is so stupid.'' Ollie continued, leaving her side and pacing the rather small room.

The young girl waited a few seconds before saying her next words. ''It was just an accident, Arthur wouldn't run into you on purpose.'' She defended her brother, knowing how Arthur considered Ollie one of his closest friends on the grid.

''Of course you're going to take his side. It was not an accident, Y/N- oh, whatever.'' He sighed, sitting down on one of the chairs, and grabbing his phone from his bag.

''I'm not taking sides! It just looked like an incident, it's no ones fault.'' She stated, clarifying what she meant.

Ollie rolled his eyes, frustration still overtaking all of his other emotions. ''You're really saying that was a fucking racing incident? I get that he's your brother, but that doesn't mean he can't make mistakes.''

''You think I wouldn't point it out if Thur made a mistake?'' Y/N chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. ''I'm not the biggest racing expert, but it was quite clear that it was an accident.''

The Brit remained quiet, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram despite having gone through all the new posts already.

Y/N observed him, her disappointment growing over her boyfriend's behaviour. ''I really don't like how you're acting right now.'' She disapprovingly shook her head.

''How am I acting right now?''

''Like an asshole, Ollie.'' She cursed, startling the Prema driver as it doesn't happen often.

He scoffed once again. ''I'm not being an asshole, I just can't believe you're not on my side on this.''

''I'm not on your side? I'm here for you, aren't I? I could easily be standing in my brother's garage right now with my family, but I'm here for you, because I want to be here.'' Y/N retorted, not wanting to believe the words that were coming out of his mouth.

''If you want to be there so much, then go to fucking DAMS.'' Ollie said, before standing up and turning around to change his clothes. Y/N watched him with sad eyes, feeling dejected over his careless attitude.

The young girl stood frozen in place for a few moments, after which she turned around and opened the door. ''Bye, I guess.''

She wanted to close the door with a lot of strength so a loud ''bang'' would be produced, but she wanted to remain polite in front of the Prema team and potentially damaging one of their doors doesn't exactly scream politeness.

Y/N got out of the backdoor of the hospitality, too humiliated to face anyone and explain what happened in the driver's room. She stumbled around the F2 paddock, in search of the DAMS hospitality so she could check up on her brother.

In a moment of absent-mindedness, Little Leclerc bumped into the body of another person with quite a force. ''Oh, I'm so sorry.'' She apologised before even seeing who she had run into.

''It's okay- Y/N?'' Her head shot up at the gentle voice of Joris, a rush of relief going through her body that she'd found a familiar face.

Her brother's friend properly greeted her with a hug, bending down a little. Joris could see by the look on her face that not everything was right with her. ''Hey, ça va?'' He rubbed her back.

''Is Thur okay?'' Y/N deflected the question, wanting to know about her brother's wellbeing.

Joris nodded, a frown appearing. ''Yeah, just a bit of neck pain, but nothing too serious.'' He answered. ''What's wrong, petite? You look a bit sad.''

Y/N’s eyes started watering, not able to get the words out at the reminder of her and Ollie's disagreement. The older man in front of her noticed what was going on and pulled her in his embrace. ''Hey, don't cry. What happened?''

The youngest Leclerc shook her head. ''Ollie, he- he told me to go away.'' She sniffled between her words, tears rolling down her cheeks.

''What do you mean? Wait, let's go to Enzo.'' His hands gently grabbed her shoulders and he guided her to the DAMS hospitality where her two brothers were calming down after the eventful but short race.

She dried her tears while making their way to Arthur's driver room, not wanting other people to know that she had been crying.

Joris opened the door, making Arthur and Lorenzo turn their heads towards them. ''Hi, chérie.'' The eldest greeted her before noticing her teary eyes and flushed face. ''Did you cry?''

Lorenzo walked over to her, cupping her face. ''Is Ollie okay?''

''Yeah, he's just really mad.'' Y/N mumbled, avoiding eye contact with everyone in the room.

Arthur shifted in his seat. ''It really was a racing incident, we were both at the wrong place at the wrong time.'' He explained, a similar frustration visible to Ollie's.

''I know that, I tried to explain that to him and he started saying shit.''

Both of her brothers furrowed their eyebrows. ''What did he say? Something about me?'' The DAMS driver asked.

''I asked him what happened and he was saying that Thur tried to kill him, and that you did it cause he's my boyfriend and that you wanted to be an overprotective brother.'' Their sister summarised for them.

''That's bullshit.'' Arthur said, rolling his eyes.

''I told him you wouldn't do that and that it was just an incident, but then he got upset and said I should be on his side, and that there was no way that it was just an incident. Then I told him he was acting like an asshole and he said that he wasn't,'' the three men chuckled when she mentioned calling her boyfriend an asshole, ''he was just upset that I wasn't taking his side and I told him that I was there for him, and then he basically told me to leave.'' A tear escaped her eye which she quickly wiped away.

The men frowned. ''He told you to leave?'' Lorenzo repeated her words, stunned by what she was telling them. He couldn't even imagine the young man asking that of her.

Y/N nodded her head, a pout forming on her face.

''Is he still in the garage? That bastard.'' Arthur got up from his seat, moving to the door with large strides but being stopped by Joris. ''We're not gonna do that.''

''If he's angry with me, he should curse me out! Not my sister.'' The youngest brother reasoned, holding up his arm as if he was pointing at Ollie. Arthur understood the Brit's frustrations, but he shouldn't take them out on his baby sister.

Lorenzo grabbed his brother's shoulder. ''How about instead of causing more trouble, you console your sister?''

Arthur sighed, but approached the young girl. ''Come here,'' he pulled her in an embrace, her arms going around his waist, ''he shouldn't talk to you like that, Y/N.'' Her brother caressed the back of her head.

''I know.'' Y/N pouted.

He hugged closer upon hearing her defeated voice, hating how sad she sounded. ''You want me to actually kill him next race?'' The question managed to crack a smile out of the young girl.

''That's more like it.'' Lorenzo grinned, relieved Arthur cheered her up- even if it was only momentarily.

''Hey Y/N, I'm going to Cha now, you want to come with me?'' Joris suggested taking her with him, figuring she could use the distraction. ''I'll let you take some pictures.'' He held up his camera, knowing she enjoyed messing around with it.

''Yeah, I'll go with you.'' She agreed, gloomily lifting her lips.

Her brothers both gave her a few pats on the back. ''We'll join you in a while, okay?'' Lorenzo told them, assuring her they wouldn't be too far behind them.

''Okay, can I have some money for food, though? They have smoothies at the F1 paddock.'' Y/N's sorrowful expression traded in for a pout, her doe eyes attempting to convince her brother to give her some money.

Lorenzo pretended to be shocked by her question, overdramatically widening his eyes. ''Money? You want money? Why don't you ask Charles, he's got a lot more than I have.'' Her oldest brother exaggerated.

''Because he's probably already wearing his racing suit and there's no cash or cards in there.'' Little Leclerc replied, a 'duh'-tone present in her voice.

The three men looked impressed by her answer, entertained by her quick comeback. ''That's a great reason, actually.'' Arthur admitted, his sister's reply having him think about how driver's never carry money in their racing suits.

Lorenzo sighed, but pulled out his wallet- a squeal leaving the young girl's mouth. ''Thank you, Enzo.''

She held out her hands to grab the money, but her brother pulled the few notes of cash back. ''Only on food! Not unnecessary memorabilia that will just sit in your drawer.'' The stern look on his face didn't intimidate her, but she was aware not to mess with Enzo's words.

''I promise, only food. Joris will keep an eye on me, won't you?'' Y/N mischievously glanced at her brother's best friend, already knowing he'll let her get away with anything.

The photographer nodded to Lorenzo, ''promising'' to not let her spend his money on anything other than food.

Her brother slowly handed her the money, Y/N immediately taking it and putting it in her pocket. ''Thank you, Lolo.'' She used his old nickname, teasing him a little more.

''Get out of here before I take it back.''

Arthur's team debrief didn't last as long as it usually did. Normally, they would have a lot to discuss about the feature race, but since his was cut short, there wasn't much to talk about. His team did advise him to clear the air with Ollie, since the Brit seemed very upset about the collision.

The Monégasque driver didn't have a huge interest in speaking to his younger friend, but at the end of the day- Ollie was his FDA teammate and also friend, he didn't want there to be conflict between the two of them. Yes, he wanted to kill the guy for speaking to his sister like that, but that was something for the couple to resolve.

Arthur went straight from the DAMS hospitality to the area where all the F2 drivers resided, on his way to discuss what happened with the Prema driver. He didn't put any haste behind his steps, not looking forward to meeting eye-to-eye with him.

The youngest Leclerc brother waited a few moments before knocking on Ollie's door, appreciating the calm before the expected storm.

His three knocks came out louder than he had intended, scaring himself a little by the noises. Arthur heard a faint ''Come in'' and opened the door, being confronted with a rare sight.

A crying Ollie.

''Hey, mate.'' The young Brit greeted him, rubbing his eyes and leaving a red colour behind. Oliver stood up from the chair he was sitting on, but Arthur insisted he sat back down with a simple wave of his hand.

The older one grabbed a nearby chair and sat himself next to him, observing the youngster's puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. ''Hey, are you okay?''

Ollie nodded his head, but the emotions on his face told a different story. ''Yeah, uhm, sorry about the race- I reacted a little heated, it was no one's fault really.'' He rambled, the words coming out of his mouth at a rapid pace.

''It's alright, we've all been there,'' Arthur brushed his apology off, understanding it was the heat of the moment that made him respond like that, ''but, uh, you know, my sister is really upset about what happened.''

The Prema driver looked down at his hands upon hearing Arthur's words, a tear falling from the corner of his eye onto his knuckles. ''I- I- I know, I was a fucking asshole- I was just very upset about the race, but I shouldn't have acted like that. I'm really sorry, Arthur.''

''No, I understand, but you shouldn't say sorry to me, you know?''

The DAMS rookie's anger had wittered and was replaced by sympathy. Arthur still didn't like how Ollie had acted towards his sister, but seeing how much it affected his former teammate almost broke his heart.

''Yeah, I know.'' The tears started flowing again and soon enough the bottom of Ollie's sleeves were covered with damp tears. ''I just- is she gonna break up with me?''

Arthur immediately shook his head. ''No, no, no! I think she's just sad with you right now, but she won't break up with you, Ollie! Are you crazy.'' He assured him, chuckling the last part.

''Good,'' Ollie sighed out of relief, ''I don't know what to think or do. I've never been in this situation before.'' He admitted, an attempt to confide in his girlfriend's older brother.

''I get that, but don't worry too much. Y/N is a very understanding person, and if you explain to her, she will forgive you- just give her some time to like… calm down.'' Arthur advised him, knowing his little sister would accept his apology as long as he proper;y explained himself.

Ollie carefully listened to each word that left Arthur's mouth, nodding along. ''Okay, yeah… but like- how much time is that?'' He asked him.

Arthur shrugged his shoulders. ''I don't know. Maybe send her a text, saying that you would like to talk whenever she feels ready to talk.'' He suggested, offering him a solution that always worked whenever he and Carla had a disagreement.

The Brit nodded again, pulling his phone out of his pocket. ''Yeah, that's great, actually. Uh, so I just send her that?'' Ollie sought out assurance again, afraid he was doing something wrong.

He felt relief once again when Arthur nodded his head. ''Yes, I don't know if she will respond right away, but I think she'll be happy that you want to talk.''

With Arthur's confirmation, he typed away on his phone.

ollie 🧸: hi ❤ whenever you feel ready to talk, just let me know x

ollie 🧸: i was being an asshole, I'm really sorry :(

ollie 🧸: hope you're okay, love x

Ollie showed his friend the texts, tension leaving his shoulders at his nod. ''That's good, I know she'll appreciate that. She can't stay mad at you.''

The younger one smiled at that, cheeks heating up. ''I hope so, I don't like the thought of her being upset, especially if it's with me.''

A grin appeared on Arthur's face. ''Oooh~ so cute!'' He bumped his shoulder against Ollie's, teasing the younger guy. ''But seriously, Ollie- she likes you a lot and this will be forgotten in a few days.''

''Yeah… we're fine, right?'' Ollie wasn't too sure where he stood now with the Monégasque, concerned this might affect their friendship.

Arthur snickered at the visible worryness on his face. ''Of course! I mean- I came in here to punch you in the face, but then I saw you cry and I felt bad.'' He joked, although it wasn't that far-fetched.

''Y/N always says that the three of you like me, but sometimes… I don't know, you guys look at me like you want to kill me.'' Ollie said it with a chuckle, but it had been a legitimate concern of his ever since he started dating the youngest Leclerc sibling.

Arthur sighed and put his arm over the Brit's shoulder. ''We like you, Ollie. It's just this big brother thing, you know? This is her first real relationship, we don't want her to be heartbroken over a boy,'' he calmly explained, understanding where the younger one was coming from, ''but we really like you and we want the best for you. Enzo and Charles even check on your races and stuff, they wouldn't do that if they hated you.''

The Leclerc brothers truly had grown fond of the young Brit over the last months. They had seen the positive effect he had on their sister and that was more than enough for them to ''approve'' their new brother-in-law. At first, they were apprehensive about the fact that he was a fellow racing driver, but the 2 teenagers seemed to handle everything well- comforting their worries.

''They really do that? Awesome.'' Ollie smiled to himself, honoured that Lorenzo and Charles caught up on his race results and standings.

Arthur threw him the infamous Leclerc wink. ''Don't worry so much, you're a great gay.''

''I'm a what?'' Ollie's eyes widened as the words left the older one's mouth.

Arthur speaks English with a heavy French accent, causing him to pronounce certain words differently. The most famous example, the way he says ''guy''.

The Monégasque copied Ollie's expression as soon as he realised what he had actually told him. ''No, no! Guy, you're a great guy!'' He pronounced it more clearly this time, making sure the 18 year-old didn't misunderstand him.

''Oh, okay. I- I was confused for a second there.'' Ollie awkwardly laughed it off, glancing at Arthur. ''You should be a bit more careful with your pronunciation, you don't want to get in trouble.''

''Isn't June the gay month? At least I won't be in trouble then.''

''You mean pride month?''

there won’t be a part 2 as this is more arthur x ollie focused! pls don’t ask for a part 2 in the comments or my inbox, I will just ignore it! 🤍

• • • • • • •

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